"I know," Basso replied, when Aelius pointed out that the pennies were silver-plated rather than solid. "We've spent a fortune on this war, and I'm damned if I'm going to make people hate me by raising taxes before we can convert the takings from Perigouna into clinking money. Right now, the only thing between us and national bankruptcy is a massive loan from the Bank. Sorry, but your victory pennies weren't a priority."
Aelius nodded meekly. "Like I care," he said. "The whole thing was a shambles anyway, so it's appropriate, really."
"Plated coins for a plated victory?" Basso grinned. "I like that. Makes me wish I was in opposition; I'd get a big laugh with it in the House. It'll be all right soon," he went on, pouring Aelius a drink. "We stand to make money on the deal."
"We?"
Basso nodded. "Splendidly vague word. We, as in the state, will be in profit as soon as the cash deposits from Perigouna have been reminted. We, as in the Bank, are getting interest on the government loan at one per cent over base. We, as in the people and Republic, have just acquired our first colony, though they, as in the people and Republic, haven't realised it yet. Best deal I ever made, as my father would've said."
Aelius drank his wine in two gulps. It was, he recognised, a fine vintage, meant to be sipped, but he didn't like the taste of the fancy stuff. "You're a clever man," he said. "You've always had the knack of turning shit to gold."
Basso smiled at him. "Talking of which."
Aelius pulled a face. "I know," he said. "General Cowshit. Even my senior staff have started calling me that. Still, at least I earned it. I'm not sure I can even spell Perigouniacus."
"They're talking about a coat of arms for you," Basso replied, stone-faced. "I can't wait to see what they come up with."
"Ah well." Aelius looked for somewhere to put down his glass. All the furniture in the Black Palace had been made while his people were still using bronze tools. "Let me tell you something," he said. "When they opened the gates and we entered Perigouna, there were these stacks at the end of each street, like woodpiles. They were covered with ships' sails, so all you could see were the ends: layers of naked feet, twelve in a row, twelve deep. Strangest thing I ever saw. I don't suppose I'll forget it in a hurry." He put down the glass slowly and deliberately in the middle of a round walnut table, whose finish shone like a mirror. "General Cowshit," he said. "You know, I've been called worse."
Basso took off his left glove, picked up the glass and put the glove under it. "I'm personally responsible for the fixtures and fittings," he said. "Privilege of office."
Lunch with various party grandees; then he went back to the Severus house for his afternoon appointment. He took the back stairs to his office. The duty clerk must have heard his feet on the stairs; he knocked and came in without waiting to be called.
"Tragazes is here to see you," the clerk said. "I put him in the ante-room."
Basso nodded. "He can wait," he said. "I'll just finish these letters."
He gave it ten minutes, by his beautiful new Auxentine clock (a present from the House, taken from the spoils of the governor's mansion), then got up and opened the door.
"Sorry," he said, "they didn't tell me you were here. Come on through."
Basso knew that the frame of the connecting door was exactly six feet two inches high, because his great-grandfather had had the proportions copied exactly from the sunset chapel at the Studium. Tragazes had to duck to get through. There's so much of him, Bassano had said once, and all to no purpose.
"Can I get you a drink?" Basso asked.
"Sorry?"
He repeated the offer, raising his voice and speaking slowly. "Oh, no, thank you," Tragazes replied. "It's a bit early for me."
Basso formed a quick smile, which cost him effort. There was something inherently wrong about Tragazes. The mind of an elderly spinster in the body of a dragon-slayer, someone had said once; and to be sure, it was mildly disturbing to hear that tiny, thin voice coming out of that enormous head, projected by that massive chest--as if one of the great trebuchets that guarded the harbour mouth had tried to shoot a pebble, and only managed to send it five yards. No doubt the operation had had something to do with that; but Tragazes was far from being the caricature eunuch. He hadn't run to fat, as so many big men did. Once, when a grain cart had got stuck in the ruts in the Horsefair, he'd rushed to lend a hand (always so helpful, so eager to please), and he'd lifted the back end clean off the ground while the carters packed sacking under the wheels. That was Tragazes; and the look on his face when he realised his gown had got muddied up and his shoes were ruined.
"Very sensible," Basso said, pouring himself a larger glass than he actually wanted. "Sit down."
The chair creaked, and Basso caught himself expecting it to collapse. It would've been dramatically right, because that sort of thing happened to Tragazes, and when it didn't, you felt that something had gone wrong. "So," he said, "how's it going?"
"Sorry?"
And that was another thing. Basso knew he ought to sympathise with a fellow sufferer; but he'd spent his life figuring out how not to be deaf. Instinctively he turned his good ear towards the speaker, watched his lips, came closer. Tragazes just made you say it again.
"How are things at the Bank?"
"Oh, quite quiet." Tragazes frowned. "We're a bit concerned about the Tremissis brothers. They're two days late."
Basso shook his head. "They're good for the money," he said.
"Oh, yes, of course. And they're only late because their ship from Rugeo got held back by the weather. But it bothers me that they're so overcommitted. If anything had happened to that one ship, they'd have had to default."
"On one month's payment," Basso said. "Which in their case I'd be happy to roll over."
Tragazes looked at him; mild, faintly disapproving, a wise subject bowing to the whims of a foolish king. "Of course," he said. "The collateral is very good. But we're a bit concerned, even so. We're keeping an eye on them."
Basso took a deep breath. "Personally," he said, "I'm more concerned about the Strength Through Simplicity. Is it true they want to borrow another ninety thousand?"
Tragazes nodded. "As a matter of fact, I authorised the loan just this morning. That brings the total up to three hundred and seventy thousand."
Just the question he'd been about to ask. "That's rather a lot."
Another nod. "We have debentures for two hundred thousand, and personal guarantees for the balance. Also, we insisted on full accounts for the last two years and a detailed projection of future commitments. It's a very sound business. We think they're poised to break into a very interesting new market."
Exactly what he'd have said to Antigonus, though he'd have used better words. "Keep an eye on them, too," he said.
"Of course."
Why did talking to this man make him feel like he was carrying bricks uphill? "So," he said, "what do you make of this business in Scleria?"
Tragazes, it turned out, made more or less the same of it as he did, though he contrived to make it sound dull and somehow obvious. He had that knack. And all the while, he sat perfectly still, as though only the parts of him required for answering questions were alive. Basso thought about that. It was almost as though Tragazes was aware that his reserves of energy belonged to his employer, and he wasn't prepared to expend a single movement if it wasn't entirely justified. When he'd completed his presentation (it was hard to think of it that way), he paused, blinked, and said, "Is there anything else?"
"I don't know," Basso replied. "You tell me."
Another pause, and the pale blue eyes seemed to glaze over, until Basso was sure he was about to fall asleep. Then he shifted ever so slightly in his chair (which creaked) and said, "We were wondering whether this would be a good time to take over the Land & Sea Credit."
Basso frowned, as though what he'd heard didn't make sense. "Why would I want to do a thing like that?" he said.
The explanation followed, smart as a military parade, and Basso realised that the arguments were good, the opportunity was real, and he hadn't thought of it for himself. Tragazes, on the other hand, had clearly gone into it in great depth. "Just a moment," he interrupted (and Tragazes shut up instantly, faster than any mechanism). "That's not bad," he said. "Why didn't you mention it earlier?"
"We still don't have the end-of-quarter results," Tragazes replied. "We would want to see a four per cent decline in domestic business, coupled with a slight rise in bad debt provision. That would tilt the balance of leverage just enough in our favour."
Well, of course. He felt like a peasant for having to ask. "Before we act, yes," he said. "But you might have mentioned it."
"Sorry," Tragazes said. "We didn't want to bother you with it till we were quite sure."
Of course they didn't. "It's a good idea," Basso said. "Yes, we'll do that, once we've got those figures. Thank you, you've done a good job."
But praise just seemed to skid off, like a file on hardened steel. "We've also been looking at the situation in Boezen," Tragazes said. "We feel that some sort of intervention may become necessary to stabilise the hyperpyron against the nomisma, which would of course involve us in buying quite heavily in the short term. However..."
A curious thing, Basso thought, and something he wouldn't have believed possible. Tragazes could make something like the Boezen currency crisis boring. He was, of course, quite right. If the Bank stuffed a huge wedge of Republican nomismata into Boezen over the course of the next month, it would stop the run on the hyperpyron; the Boezen Emperor would then have no choice but to up the gold content, maybe going back to the pre-war standard of twenty parts fine, which would result in Boezen effectively pricing itself out of the bulk timber market. The Bank could then sell hyperpyra at a profit. No way in hell was that boring, but Tragazes made it sound like it was. In which case--
"I approve," he said. "You carry on and do that, assuming it all pans out. Meanwhile, there's something else I'd like you to do for me."
"Of course."
"My nephew," Basso said. "He's very keen to join the Bank. Now, he's a bright lad with a good head on his shoulders, but he's new to business and he's never done a day's work in his life. I'd like you to have him sit in with you for a while, just to get the feel of things; maybe you could explain the basics to him, so he gets a proper understanding of what the work of the Bank is really all about. Would that be all right?"
The pale blue eyes blinked. "We'd be delighted," Tragazes said. "Only too pleased."
"That's settled, then," Basso said. "I'll send him over to you. No special treatment, mind. I want him to make himself useful."
"Of course."
Indeed. Of course, of course. "Thank you," Basso said, "that's all."
Tragazes stood up, practically filling the room, bowed his head--it wasn't his fault that a gesture evidently intended to convey sincere respect put Basso in mind of a bull about to charge--and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. When he'd gone, Basso looked down at his left hand (the damaged one) and found that he'd been gripping the arm of his chair so hard he'd left nail-marks in the wood.
Bassano was late. He'd been held up, he explained, by the crowds in the streets, going home from the victory parade.
"Really?" Basso frowned. "I'd have thought your end of town would've been relatively clear."
"I didn't come from home," Bassano said.
Basso had ordered dinner in the small cloister, looking out over the lavender garden. It had turned out chillier than he'd expected, so he'd had them light the boilers to heat up the underfloor conduits. It took time, though, for the hot water to feed through, so he'd sent in for a brazier as well, and the breeze was blowing the smoke back towards the house. "Oh," Basso said. "Anyway, you're here now. You'll like this. Sea bass, in mustard sauce."
Bassano liked his food. "Thanks, Uncle," he said. "As it happens, I'm starving. I missed lunch."
They moved their chairs to avoid the smoke, which meant they had to look at the wall instead of the lavender beds. "Did you see Aelius' parade?"
"I caught a bit of it," Bassano said. "Where they were leading him through the Pig Market on that rope. He didn't seem awfully happy."
Basso laughed. "Don't suppose he was. It's hard to cut a dashing figure when you look like you're being led away to the gallows. Still, I asked him if he wanted the full traditional entry. Serves him right if he couldn't be bothered to look it up first." He poured the wine, but Bassano said, "If it's all right with you, I'll just have water."
"Really?"
Nod. "I'm going to get used to it by stages."
"Explain."
Bassano took off his gloves and laid them on the table. "I did as you suggested," he said. "I've enrolled at the Studium. Hence, no booze for a month. I don't actually have to lay off it until term starts, but--"
"You did what?"
Bassano grinned. "I'm going to be a priest," he said. "Like you said I should."
"Oh." Basso put down his glass without drinking. "But I've just arranged for you to start at the Bank."