Basso scowled at him. "Don't be stupid," he said. "There won't be any court martial. I'm directly answerable for your actions to the House."
"Ah." Aelius nodded slowly. "I see."
"Good. As far as everybody but you and me are concerned, you stood your ground, only withdrawing when you realised that further resistance would inevitably result in pointless civilian casualties. Sort it out with your people; I don't want any inconsistencies."
Aelius nodded. "Understood," he said. "Does that mean I still have a job?"
"Of course you do," Basso snapped. "You think that with all this on my plate, I've got the time or the energy to find someone else? Last thing I need is to have to work with a stranger at a time like this."
"Well?" Basso asked.
Cinio took a long time to answer. "Nothing," he said. "Well, about sixteen thousand nomismata, spilled on the floor while they were filling the sacks. Plus the foreign coin for melting, which they didn't touch, and what was actually in the Mint shop, say another twenty thousand. That's it."
Basso said: "The foreign money."
"It's your bloody nephew's fault," Cinio said. "Since he's been in charge, production's up by nearly a third. A quarter of a million, if that; all the rest had already been melted down and restruck."
When he spoke again, Basso's voice was level and calm. "So," he said, "as far as we know, the cash reserve of the Republic stands at around two hundred and eighty thousand, as against..." He glanced at the paper on his desk. "Twenty million, this time yesterday. All the rest of it's gone, we don't know where, and we have no idea if we can get any of it back. That's true, isn't it?" Suddenly he laughed, and a huge smile spread on his face like blood from a wound. "We're broke," he said. "The Republic has no money."
Cinio stared at him, then grinned. "Yes," he said, "that's right. No money."
Basso leaned back until his chair creaked, and put his hands behind his head. "Let's just think about that," he said. "We can't pay anybody for anything. We can't pay the guards, or the street sweepers, or the highways division, or the men who put oil in the street lamps in Portgate, we can't pay the builders or the masons, we can't service thirty million nomismata's worth of debt, all the state guarantees to business are worthless; we can't hire soldiers to go to Mavortis to look for our money, and even if we could we can't pay any oarsmen to row them there in our fleet of not-yet-paid-for warships. We're so totally and comprehensively screwed, I can't think of anything that could possibly make things worse. Really I can't," he added, "and I'm a pessimist. It's so perfect it's practically beautiful. So," he said, still smiling, "what do we do now?"
To say that the Republic was bankrupt (the First Citizen told the House) was not just totally false; it was also misleading and criminally irresponsible. The Republic had lost assets to the value of twenty million nomismata. In movable goods alone, not counting real estate, the Republic still had assets in excess of a hundred million nomismata, while its realty was worth between five and ten times that amount. To talk of national bankruptcy was absurd, and anybody who continued to speak in such terms would be doing the Vesani people a grave disservice.
The stolen money would, of course, be recovered. Such a vast sum could not be dispersed through conventional banking anywhere in the world before the Republic's agents found it and reported its whereabouts to the government, whereupon immediate and devastating reprisals would be launched. No sane foreign banker would touch the money, no government would allow it to cross their border. Even if the thieves buried the money in the middle of the desert, Vesani intelligence would find it. It was, quite simply, too much money for anyone to get away with.
Until then, clearly, the Republic would have to adopt various expediencies in order to function. For all official transactions, therefore, paper money would be issued, backed by government land. Each paper note would bear a promise to repay, in gold coin, at a given date, and that promise would be honoured. For foreign business, and in particular the hiring of mercenary troops, gold coin could not be replaced by paper without the risk of triggering a crisis of confidence. Accordingly, the First Citizen said, the Bank of Charity & Social Justice had that morning agreed to loan the Treasury its entire reserve of coined gold money, amounting to eight million nomismata, on the security of land debentures. Further, the Bank was placing its entire credit at the government's disposal, enabling the Treasury to borrow from the Bank at will, without delay or formality, for the duration of the crisis. The First Citizen added that he had not, unfortunately, had an opportunity to discuss the situation with the heads of the Republic's other banks, and he could not, therefore, speak for them; however, he had every confidence that they would follow the Charity's lead, especially with regard to the provision of gold coin. On that assumption, he could assure the House that by close of business that day, the Treasury would once again be able to call upon cash reserves of at least twenty million nomismata. In simple terms, he told the House, the money was there. There was a problem. Indeed, there was a crisis, and the Vesani people had suffered an insult unprecedented in their history. But to talk, as some members of the Opposition had been doing, of a disaster, of the end of the Republic as they knew it, was utterly absurd, and he could only guess at the motivation of the individuals concerned.
As for blame, he said, there would be plenty of time for that later. As yet, the full facts of the matter were unknown; until they knew who had stolen the money, whether or not they had had the help of Vesani accomplices, whether the military authorities had had any reason to suspect that such a crime was being planned, it would be pointless and counterproductive to find fault. When the time came and all the necessary information had been assembled, a board of enquiry would make an informed decision and action would be taken. Until then, it was the duty of the House and the First Citizen to work together as never before to heal the Republic's wounds and see to it that damage to the state's interests was kept to the bare minimum. On that basis, he commended his proposed plan of action to the House.
"Basso," Antigonus said, leaning forward a little, so that his sleeve was in danger of catching fire in the candle-flame, "we haven't got eight million nomismata."
"I know," Basso said.
"You know." Antigonus nodded slowly. "Well, that's a comfort. You may be reckless to the point of insanity, but at least you're properly informed. What in God's name possessed you?"
"It's not a problem," Basso said sharply. "The other banks have covered the remaining twelve million, and I know for a fact, they really are good for the money. We'll draw down on them first. Think about it," he added, as Antigonus shook his head. "Reserves are reserves, right? Reserves are money you squirrel away because you know you won't need it, but one day you just conceivably might. So long as everyone believes the money's there, we won't need to touch a nomisma of it."
Antigonus scowled at him. "Very well," he said. "You gambled everything on shaming the other banks into--"
"A very safe bet," Basso said. "Also, it's a good loan, they'll be getting four per cent. I'm just sorry we'll miss out." He smiled, and said, "Admit it. I did all right."
"That remains to be seen."
"I did all right," Basso repeated, a little louder and slower. "The coined money isn't really the issue. In case you missed it, we've also given the government an unlimited line of credit in paper loans. Which means, of course, that we can lend the government as much as we like, at one per cent over base, for as long as we like. Now that," he added with relish, "is the sort of deal you dream about. Well?"
Antigonus sighed. "That wasn't why you did it."
"No. Does it matter?"
"Tell me why you did it."
"To save General Aelius' neck," Basso replied. "And mine too, I suppose. Will that do?"
Antigonus looked at him. "That was the reason? Really?"
Basso breathed out, long and slow. "I'd like to give it a pretty name, like loyalty," he said. "Truth is, I tend to get used to having the same people round me. I was damned if a bunch of pirates was going to lose me my pet soldier. Besides which, I owe him."
"Because of when your wife died."
"Partly." Basso sat up in his chair. "But anyway," he said. "You asked, and I've told you. And you've got to say it out loud. I did all right."
"You did all right."
"Thank you."
"Basso." Antigonus was looking straight at him. "We have a serious liquidity problem. You know we do."
"I know," Basso said quietly. "And I'm going to do something about it, don't you fret. I don't know, though," he added, and for the first time since the news broke, he felt tired. "Maybe I should've seen it coming. All the world brings its gold here, to a shed in a yard in the middle of town, and we're surprised when thieves show up and rob us. Do you think I've been guilty of ordinary thinking?"
Antigonus shook his head. "You can't think of everything."
"Since when?"
Inguiomera, second city of the Mavortine Confederacy, was at that time still little more than two rings of earth-and-turf ramparts around the top of a steep hill overlooking the mouth of the River Tiwas. Inside the inner ring, building was forbidden; the grassy plateau was kept clear to provide grazing for the flocks and herds of the Ingui people in the event of an attack. Between the rings, however, houses and other structures were beginning to sprout up, mostly for the use and convenience of foreign traders and the high-caste Mavortines who did business with them. The largest and most impressive building, designed and constructed by Auxentine contractors, was the Grand Lodge, where the tribes met once a year to resolve existing feuds and start new ones. There was a small and unpopular temple of the Invincible Sun, paid for by the Vesani Mission (stone-built and slate-roofed, for convenience of rebuilding every time it was burnt down). There was a market hall and a corn exchange, used only by foreigners; lodges for Sclerian, Auxentine and Vesani visitors; and a number of small shops and workshops, some of them used by Mavortines.
The barber's shop on the east side was one of the more surprising successes. Although Mavortines of every caste professed nothing but scorn for the civilised nations of the south, they were increasingly prepared to make an exception when it came to their hair. Fashions, chosen apparently at random from the three major foreign cultures, came and went with bewildering speed. The Sclerian bob, often disconcertingly combined with the Vesani smooth chin and the luxuriant Auxentine moustache, swiftly gave way to the Auxentine plait (but with full Mavortine beard), which in turn was ousted by the Sclerian tonsure (with the Vesani smooth upper lip and the Auxentine forked beard), until supplanted in its turn by Vesani layering, the Mavortine moustache and the waxed-spike chin-only beard copied from Auxentine coins of the previous century. The barber, a Mavortine with nomad Hus on his mother's side, employed six men (including a genuine Vesani, who'd left the Republic in a hurry for legal reasons) and two women, and his shop was generally regarded as the social hub of Inguiomera.
A week after the raid on the Vesani Treasury, a man nobody had seen before walked rather diffidently into the barber's shop and looked round, clearly uncertain of the procedure. He was shown to the only vacant chair and asked what he wanted. He replied that he wasn't sure, it was his first time in a place like this, but he wanted the best and was prepared to pay for it. The barber assured him he'd put his best man on the job, and beckoned to the renegade Vesani.
The style, or combination of styles, employed on this occasion was a fairly monumental piece of work, taking a substantial amount of time, because the bill came to seven stury, best part of a day's wages for a skilled man. The customer didn't seem to mind; he paid with a gold coin, told the barber to keep the change, and left.
The Vesani hairdresser was a quick thinker, though not a particularly deep one, which was why he now found himself in the Mavortine Confederacy. He slipped the gold coin into his mouth, put seven stury of his own money into the takings pot, and saw to the next customer. Some time later, on the pretext of relieving himself, he went outside, took the coin out of his mouth and tucked it inside his shoe, where it remained for the rest of the day.
His initial intention had been to take it to the money changer on the south side and convert it into stury. On his way there, however, he paused to examine it under a lamp, and changed his mind. Instead, he went to the Vesani lodge and demanded to see the resident.
At that time, the office of Vesani resident in Inguiomera was largely informal, shared between those of the senior merchants who could be bothered to do it. On that particular day, it happened to be the turn of Brenno Reliano, a minor cousin of the wrong side of the Aureliani banking family, aged nineteen years and on his first trip abroad. He'd been in the Confederacy for three days.
As soon as Brenno saw the coin, he realised that he was looking at his passage home. He asked the hairdresser where he'd got it, and was told the full story. No, the hairdresser hadn't seen where the man had gone and he hadn't mentioned his name or anything like that, but he shouldn't be hard to find. Just look for a Mavortine with a Sclerian skinhead, bushy whiskers and a beard like a six-inch nail.
Brenno thanked the hairdresser and, on the pretext of getting him a drink, escorted him to a small storage bay and locked him in. Then he rounded up all the Vesani in the lodge, explained what he'd found, and asked what they should do next.