Part 4 (1/2)

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, crus.h.i.+ng 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 partic.i.p.ants. 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 tr.i.m.m.i.n.g 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 bra.s.s 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 circ.u.mstances. And the final a.s.sault 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.'

'Well, you know how it is,' Bardas said. 'Wars seem to follow me about, whenever I get myself settled. So I thought this time I'd go and find one, before it found me.'

The prefect looked at him as if he hadn't quite understood. 'An interesting perspective,' he said. 'In any event, your service in the siege of Ap' Escatoy certainly merits a tangible reward, and the provincial office knows the importance of looking after its own. It ought to be possible to find a situation that will prove rewarding to you and which makes rather better use of your talents than the mines.' He glanced back at the paper in front of him. 'I see you have practical experience in manufacturing,' he said.

'I used to make bows,' Bardas replied.

'You were good at it?'

'Fairly good,' Bardas said. 'A lot depends on getting the right materials.'

The prefect frowned, then nodded. 'Quite right,' he said. 'Our procurement office takes particular care to ensure that all our specifications are properly met. And of course,' he went on, 'we're equally thorough when it comes to quality control. Which is why the proof house is such an important part of our manufacturing procedure.'

'Proof house,' Bardas repeated. 'I'm sorry, I don't know what that means.'

For some reason, that seemed to amuse the prefect. 'There's no reason why you should,' he said. 'It's a rather specialised department. Essentially, the proof house is where we test the armour we issue to our soldiers. It's a subdivision of the district armoury at Ap' Calick, although we test samples from provinces all over the western Empire.' The prefect drummed his fingers on the desktop in a quick, orderly rhythm. 'There's a vacancy for a deputy inspector at Ap' Calick. The post is equivalent in rank to sergeant-of-fifty, so it would represent a significant promotion; obviously it's not a combat a.s.signment, but I venture to suggest that after such a protracted tour of front-line duty, the change would not be unwelcome. Mostly, though, the combination of proven administrative skills and considerable first-hand combat experience that your record suggests make you a thoroughly logical choice for this duty. Provided,' the prefect added, with a smile, 'it meets with your approval.'

Bardas looked up. 'Oh, absolutely,' he said. 'Anything that doesn't involve killing people down dark tunnels will do me just fine. Thank you.'

The prefect looked at him, his head slightly on one side, with the air of a man reluctantly giving up on an insoluble problem. 'My pleasure,' he said. 'If you'd care to call back tomorrow, any time after midday, my clerk should have your certificate and transit doc.u.ments ready. You can use the post to get there; not that there's any immediate hurry, but it can be an awkward journey by conventional means.' The prefect stood up, indicating that the interview was over. Bardas followed suit. 'Good luck, Sergeant Loredan. I'm sure you'll do an excellent job in Ap' Calick.'

'I'll do my best,' Bardas replied. He opened the door, then hesitated. 'Sorry,' he said, 'just one quick question. How do you go about testing armour?'

The prefect spread his hands. 'I really don't know,' he said. 'I a.s.sume by simulating the sort of strain and damage it's likely to undergo in actual combat.'

Bardas nodded. 'Bas.h.i.+ng it with swords,' he said. 'That sort of thing. Should be fun. Thank you.' He closed the door behind him before the prefect could say anything else.

Of course, Bardas knew all about the post. Everyone in the Empire had come across it at some time, usually in the context of scurrying out of its way. The post-horses, as everybody knew, stopped for nothing; they were explicitly allowed to ride down anybody who couldn't get out of the road quickly enough, and the post-riders seemed to delight in taking every opportunity they could to exercise this privilege.

'Three stops a day to change horses,' the master courier told him cheerfully, 'and two more at night; we take our food and water with us, and if you want a pee, you do it over the side of the coach. This all the stuff you're taking?'

Bardas nodded. 'Just the kitbag,' he said.

'No armour?'

'Sapper,' Bardas explained. 'We never bothered with it in the mines.'

The courier shrugged and signalled to the outriders to mount up. 'Fair enough,' he said. 'Just for once there's a bit of s.p.a.ce on the coach; nothing much going up the line today. You can sit on the box with me, or lie down in the back if you can find room; your choice.'

Bardas climbed up, stepping on the horizontal spoke of the front wheel as he'd seen the courier do. 'I'll ride up front to start with,' he said, 'it'll give me a chance to admire the scenery.'

The courier laughed. 'You're welcome,' he said. 'Hope you like rocks, 'cos that's all you'll see till we're past Tollambec.'

The coach was a wonderful piece of work; wide and low at the front, enormous back wheels with thick iron tyres fitted front and back with sheaves of steel springs the size and thickness of crossbow limbs to float the cha.s.sis off the axles. 'Corners a treat,' the courier told him. 'Next best thing to impossible to turn it over, unless you're really trying hard. Built to last, too,' he added, giving the side of the box a meaty slap with the side of his hand. 'Well, they need to be, the amount of work they do. Bloodstream of the Empire, they call us.'