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K Parker: Devices and Desires

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K Parker Devices and Desires

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Valens wasn't there when it happened. He'd stayed back from the main hunt, pretending he had a headache; then, just after they'd driven the square spinney, he'd been knocked down by an old fat sow nobody had realised was there. As it happened he'd suffered nothing more than a bruised shin and a mild scat on the head; but by then he'd had about as much of his extended birthday as he could take, and lay groaning and clutching his knee until they'd loaded him on the game cart and driven him back to the castle. When they brought Father home, Valens had been lying on his bed reading a book (a twelve-thousand-line didactic poem about bee-keeping). Everyone was sure his father was going to die, so Valens was hustled down into the courtyard, where they'd rigged up a tent so they wouldn't have to risk taking the Duke up the narrow spiral stairs of the gatehouse.

'It's not good.' The Chancellor's face was streaked with rain, drops of water running off the spikes of hair plastered to his forehead. Like tears, Valens thought, but really only rainwater. 'Truth is, the doctor can't say how bad it is, not without a proper examination; but I think we should assume the worst.' He looked harassed, like a man late for an appointment who has to stop and chat with someone he daren't offend. 'Which means there's a great deal to be done, and not much time. The main thing, of course, is to secure the succession.'

It was as though he was talking a different language. 'I don't understand,' Valens said.

The Chancellor sighed. 'No, I don't suppose you do. Listen. You're nineteen, so in law you're still a minor. That means a three-year regency. So, who've we got? There's rules about this sort of thing, obviously, but the fact is that they don't- count for all that much when power's at stake. All it takes is a little bit of panic, and all hell's going to break loose.'

While he was still talking, Valens' mind had jumped ahead. It wasn't something he'd ever considered-because Father would live for ever, naturally-but now that the concept had been planted so violently in his mind, he was bright enough to see the implications. If there was a free-for-all power struggle in the Duchy, there were three obvious contenders: his cousin Count Licinius, commander of the Guards; his step-uncle Vetranio, commissioner of the mines, generally acknowledged as the main representative of the mining lobby; his cousin Count Torquatus, after Father the biggest landowner in the Duchy. Licinius had an army, but he was a cautious, unimaginative man, unlikely to take drastic action unless he felt himself threatened. Torquatus and Vetranio loathed each other, both on a personal level and as representatives of the wool trade and the mines; as such, either of them would be prepared to do whatever was necessary to stop the other getting power, and the easiest way of doing that would of course be to assume it themselves. If Vetranio won the race, Valens wouldn't give much for his chances of seeing his twentieth birthday. Vetranio was third in line of succession after his own nephew Domenicus, a seven-year-old boy that nobody would ever miss. With him and Valens out of the way, Vetranio would be Duke by right. He had thirty thousand silver-miners at his disposal, as against Licinius' six hundred Guards; Torquatus could maybe raise ten thousand men from the mountain pastures, but by the time they were mustered it'd be all over.

'What about you?' Valens asked. 'Would you do it? Please?'

The Chancellor looked at him through a curtain of rain. 'Me?'

'Yes, you.' Valens stepped forward. He was shorter by a head than the older man, and as he looked up the rain stung his eyes. 'If Father appoints you as regent before he dies, you'll be able to command the Guards. You can replace Licinius, arrest Vetranio, before they've even heard about this. With both of them out of the game, Torquatus will bide quiet and we'll be home and dry.'

'I don't know,' the Chancellor said. 'I'd be taking a hell of a risk. And besides, what if he won't do it? Appoint me, I mean. Or supposing he doesn't wake up-'

'Listen.' Valens caught him by the arm; it was thin and flabby under the heavy wool robe. 'You and I go in to see him, with the doctor and a couple of your people you can trust. We come out a minute or so later and make the announcement.' I shouldn't have to explain all this, he thought; he's supposed to be the politician. 'The doctor and your clerks will be the witnesses. It doesn't matter a damn what actually happens, if we're the only ones who know.'

The Chancellor looked away. Valens could see he was on the point of panic, like someone who's afraid of heights stuck up a ladder. Too frightened, he might well decide he'd be safer giving his support to someone with rather more power than a nineteen-year-old kid. 'It's all right,' Valens said firmly. 'This is something that's just got to be done, that's all. If we're quick and firm, there won't be any trouble. Go on; it'll all be fine.'

There was a long moment. Valens could see the Chancellor was past thinking rationally; he was waiting to fall, or be pushed, into a decision. 'Here's the doctor coming out,' Valens said. 'Get him, and two of your clerks. Go on now.'

The Chancellor nodded and did as he was told. Valens watched him talk to the doctor, saw him nod his agreement-and only then did it occur to Valens to wonder whether the doctor had any news, whether his father was alive, dead or dying. He pushed the thought out of his mind (because there was nothing he could do about that particular issue, but the succession had to be dealt with, and there wasn't anybody else to do it) and watched the Chancellor beckon over a couple of men-Valens knew them by sight, didn't know their names-and whisper to them. One of them looked worried, the other showed nothing. He went to join them.

'Ready?' he said.

The Chancellor nodded; the doctor tried to say something, but nobody was listening. Valens led the way into the tent.

His father was lying on a table; the clever folding table they took out for the after-hunt dinner, on which they laid out the best joints of newly butchered meat. From the doorway he looked like he was asleep; a step or so closer and Valens could see blood, the splintered ends of bones sticking out through incredible red gashes. For just a moment he had to fight to stay in there, with that mess.

'Dad?' he said softly.

'He can't hear you.' The doctor's voice, very nervous and strained. 'He passed out from the pain a few minutes ago. I don't know if he'll wake up again.'

Valens closed his eyes for a moment. 'What's the damage?' he said.

The doctor came a little closer. 'For a start,' he said, 'broken skull, collar-bone, three ribs, left forearm; but that's not the real problem. He's bleeding heavily, inside, and he's paralysed, from the neck down. There's several possible causes for that, but I don't yet know which it is.'

'You don't know?' Valens repeated.

'I'm sorry.' The doctor was afraid, that was it. Understandable; but it would only get in the way. 'Until I can do a proper examination.'

'I understand,' Valens said. 'And I know you're doing everything you can. Meanwhile, we need your help.' He turned to look at the Chancellor. 'Does he know what he's got to do?'

The Chancellor dipped his head slightly. 'They all do,' he said.

'Right.' Valens looked away from the body on the table. 'Then let's get on with it.'

In the event, there was no trouble at all. Count Licinius was in bed when a platoon of his own Guards brought him the letter and escorted him, gently but firmly, to a guestroom in the castle; it was perfectly pleasant, but it was on the sixth floor of the tower, and two men stood guard outside it all night. Vetranio made a bit of a fuss when the Guards came for him at his villa on the outskirts of the city. He had guards of his own, and there was an ugly moment when they started to intervene. A sword was drawn, there was a minor scuffle; Vetranio lost his nerve and came quietly, ending up in the room next to Licinius, though neither of them knew it until they were released a week later. By then, the doctors were pleased to be able to announce that the Duke had come through the dangerous phase of his injuries and was conscious again.

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