The Two of Swords: Part 6 (4 page)

“And the other business?”

“Ah.” Senza stood up and walked a step or two. “Now there’s a thing. Practically the last words my brother said to me were, he knew where she was. Want me to tell you, he said, and I know how his mind works; he wouldn’t have said that if he hadn’t known. So, if Forza knew—”

Avelro reached across and moved one counter to his side of the table. “If Oida knows,” he said, “who told him?”

“Very good,” Senza said, “you got there in the end. Who the bloody hell told him? That’s the bit of broken pot that won’t fit. Forza? His good friend Forza? I can’t see that somehow.”

“Other way round, maybe. Who told Forza?”

Senza nodded. “Quite,” he said. “His very good friend Oida, or so we’re expected to assume. Dear God, this sort of thing makes my head hurt. Because if that’s the case, and Oida was extending the sticky paw of friendship, what reason would he have had to believe that Forza was going to be the winning side, and therefore worth cuddling up to? Doesn’t bloody
fit
, does it?” He slid the counters into his hand and dropped them back in the box. “All right, here we go again. Forza tells Oida, so that Oida can tell me, so that I can go to this Araf place and get killed. A bit crude, but Forza knows I’m not entirely rational where a certain person is concerned. If she’s really there, he reckons, I’ll go, and screw the risk. Now
that
fits.”

“But not if Forza’s dead,” Avelro said.

“No, and that’s the buggery of it. Unless Oida wants us
both
out of the way.” He stopped dead, and his eyes were wide open. “Now there’s a thought,” he said.

Avelro shook his head. “And then the war just goes on and on for ever,” he said. “Nobody wins, and nobody is Oida’s very good friend. No, there’s nothing in that for anybody, except the crows.”

Senza frowned, then shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “It all depends on who Oida’s very best friend is, and that we don’t know.” He paused. “Do we?”

“Don’t ask me, I’m just a cavalryman.”

Senza sighed and sat down again. “At times like this I wish I drank,” he said. “I’d love to pour myself a big stiff drink and go and hide in it until everything had gone away. That’s what my father used to do. Not a good idea, but I can see why he did it. And he was only marginally less stupid when he was sober, so why not?”

Avelro grinned. “You, on the other hand—”

“Quite. Being stupid’s a luxury I can’t afford. Look, what
are
we going to do?”

“What we always do,” Avelro said. “Send cavalry.”

“Attack their army and find out if it’s Forza leading it?”

“Absolutely. Even if we get a bloody nose, who gives a damn? We’ll find out if Forza’s alive and still in business. What could be more important than that?”

Senza nodded firmly. “Yes,” he said, “let’s do that. Have a safe trip, and I’ll see you when you get back.”

One of the disadvantages of being a general is that you almost never get to see the look on your enemy’s face at the exact moment when he realises he’s been comprehensively outflanked. “Me,” Avelro said, but by then it was far too late.

“Of course,” Senza said. “There’s nobody I trust more to do a good job. Your speciality, I think, long-range cavalry raiding. Cast your mind back.”

Twelve years earlier, when Avelro had been a captain and Senza his lieutenant, Avelro had made his name with a particularly daring surgical strike deep into enemy territory.
Never again
, he’d confided, just before he walked up to General Moisa to collect his medal.
No more heroics for me, Senza my boy. You only get so much luck this side of the Very Bad Place.
But he was a first-rate cavalry commander.

He was also a realist. “Fine,” he said, and Senza couldn’t help admire the grace with which he accepted defeat, though in his view grace was somewhat overrated as a military virtue. “Leave it to me.”

“Thank you,” Senza said with feeling. “And when you’ve done that—”

It’s axiomatic in the torture industry that fear of pain, anticipation of pain, is far more powerful, therefore far more effective, than pain itself. Ninety-five subjects out of a hundred, they say, when shown the instruments of torture, will break down and start talking, if properly handled.

She looked at the machine and sniffed. “You do know,” she said, “you’ve got that bit in upside down.”

Five out of a hundred had to be different, of course. “And there’s a camshaft missing there,” she went on, “without which the stupid thing just doesn’t work. When they sold it to you, wasn’t there a manual or something?”

Senza decided he liked her. “We didn’t buy it,” he said. “We found it in with a lot of other junk we took from the enemy at Beal Ritor.”

“Ah,” she said. “That figures. The word
decommissioned
springs to mind. Your brother didn’t approve of torture.”

Note the choice of tense. “Is that right?”

“I believe so. For the same reason you don’t drink. Sensible people tend to steer away from things they may end up liking too much.”

She had his attention. “You know Forza, then.”

“I’ve never met him, if that’s what you mean. But the service likes to know about important people, naturally.”

Senza allowed the broad grin to spread across his face. “The service,” he said. “I meant to ask you about that.”

She looked at him, then lifted her hands. “Could you please take these off now?” she said. “They’re hurting my wrists.”

“Not really,” he replied. “For that, we’d need a blacksmith, or at least a file or a cold chisel to cut the rivets. Besides, I haven’t finished with you yet.”

“You’re not going to torture me, though. Are you?”

“No,” Senza admitted. “Not with this lot, anyway.” He craned his neck to peer through the dungeon’s tiny window. “Nearly midday,” he said. “How about an early lunch?”

Ten minutes later they were sitting on the terrace under the North tower. The garrison commander’s wife had had a lawn laid out and flowerbeds planted, and there was a table and two benches. Senza had ordered cold chicken and salad. “I’m waiting,” she said.

“Sorry?”

“For my apology.” She paused. He didn’t say anything. She went on: “An apology for abducting and falsely imprisoning a government officer. I know, you’re General Senza, you can do no wrong, but the least you can do is say you’re sorry.”

He inclined his head a little. “No apology,” he said. “You’re not a government officer, I checked. They’ve never heard of you. It interests me why Oida should pretend you’re one. If you tell me that, we can dispense with the ironmongery.”

She looked at him. “You checked.”

“I check everything,” he said. “Particularly where Oida’s concerned, particularly right now. Pretty much everything else he told me appears to have been true – well, I’m waiting for confirmation on one point, but that may take a while. But I did catch him out in one lie. You’re not a political officer assigned to spy on him, but he said you were. On the off chance that it was significant, I had you pulled in and brought here. Answer my question and you can go.”

She looked down at the manacles. There were red weals where they’d chafed her skin. “Fine,” she said. “I’m not a political officer. I’m Oida’s personal assistant. All right?”

“How personal?”

She gave him a tired look. He held up his hand. “All right, fine,” he said. “For that you do get an apology. Though, given his reputation—”

She gave him a sweet smile. “Oh, that,” she said. “You know what they’re saying about him in Bohec? They say that while she’s asleep, he plucks two hairs from the bush of each successive conquest. His long-term aim, they say, is to stuff a mattress. Not true, of course.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “Two medium-sized cushions, if that. As for me,” she went on, “one good thing I’ll say about him, he understands that no means no, and he doesn’t bear grudges. Plenty more fish in the vast, unlimited ocean, is his view. So, no, that’s not what I’m there for.”

Senza ate a scrap of lettuce. “So what do you do?”

“Take notes,” she replied. “Find things out. Carry messages, talk to people, keep my eyes and ears open. Political officer’s a good cover because everyone knows what a pain in the bum they can be, spying on your every move. People who don’t like him tell me things to get him in trouble, so he knows what his enemies are thinking.”

Senza smiled. “Oida has enemies.”

“Of course he does.” She hesitated, as if afraid she may have said something she shouldn’t. The hesitation was just a little bit too long, maybe. “You do know—”

He broadened the smile. “Know what?”

“Oh God.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Obviously you don’t, and I assumed—
Hell
,” she said. “He’s going to be so angry.”

“Know what?”

She let out a long, sad sigh. “Oida is the go-between,” she said. “Between the two empires. There aren’t any official lines of communication, no recognised diplomatic channels beyond the absolute bare minimum, but from time to time there are some things they’ve simply got to talk about; but obviously nobody can know about it. Oida’s more or less the only man alive who’s free to come and go, loved and respected in both empires, known to be completely impartial, never takes sides, he’s the obvious choice. He spends his life shuttling backwards and forwards delivering messages, conducting negotiations, that sort of thing. He’s got a permanent staff of ten assistants, and I’m one of them. Oh, come on, you
must
have known. You know everything, everyone says so.”

Senza pursed his lips. “Apparently not.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Why the hell not? I mean, I’d have thought that you— Oh, the hell with it.” She paused, then added: “Forza knew.”

“You’re not eating your salad.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But it’s your favourite.”

She shot him a startled look. He went on: “Cold roast chicken, lettuce, cucumber, dill pickle, red and green peppers, honey, white wine and vinegar dressing. Your favourite. At least, it’s what you always have when you eat alone at the Two Stars at Bohec, so I’m assuming you like it. Or maybe there’s some special ingredient we’ve missed out. In which case, I apologise. No excuse for sloppy intelligence work, after all.”

She gave him a long look. “You do know,” she said. “About Oida.”

Senza sighed. “Now that,” he said, “is a very good question. Yes, I know a lot of things about Oida. Ever such a lot of things, many of them true. Just not enough, that’s all.”

She’d changed. She even looked quite different. He wondered if, this time next week, he’d recognise her again if he met her in the street. Quite possibly not. “It’s really true that he’s the go-between,” she said. “And you did know that already.”

Senza nodded. “I have full access to government intelligence,” he said. “Which means I know what’s in the dossier, about him and you. I know you killed a man at Beloisa just for a place on a boat – well, I say a man, a political officer, so no harm done. But, yes, I know a little bit about both of you. I know what you really went to Blemya for.” She winced just a little when he said that. “Which is why we’re keeping the chains on for now, given that we’re alone and there’s sharp objects handy. No offence.”

“None taken,” she replied. “Fine, so what do you want me for?”

He smiled; then he grabbed her by the throat, his thumb pressing on a particular vein. It was just as well he knew his own strength. “Tell me who Oida is,” he said. “Please.”

She opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. He kept the pressure up for another three seconds, then let go. She fell back, gasping for air. He counted to twelve, then repeated: “Please.”

“Since you ask so nicely.”

He shook his head. “You’re a clever, attractive woman and you make me laugh,” he said. “In fact, you remind me quite a bit of someone I used to know. I’d hate to have to hurt you, but this is
important
.” He turned round and made a sign; two soldiers hurried over, carrying a box. They put it down on the table and Senza lifted off the lid. “Go on,” he said.

She looked at him, then into the box. “Oh,” she said.

“Quite. That’s the missing camshaft, and that’s the pinion for the worm drive. You missed that.”

“So I did,” she said quietly.

“And, yes,” Senza went on, “we do have the manual.” He nodded, and the soldiers closed the box and took it away. “Please,” he said, “I’m serious. I really do need to know about Oida. I’ve just sent off one of my oldest friends on a cavalry raid, based on what Oida told me, I’m scared stiff he won’t come back and I’m being led into a trap. The lives of my men are at stake, and that means more to me than anything in the world. So you can see—”

“Anything?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t smile. “You’re quite right,” he said. “Killing my brother is the most important thing, assuming he’s not dead already. To that end I’ve sent tens,
hundreds
, of thousands of good men to their deaths, and I did it because it had to be done. But every single death was one too many, and I’m damned if there’s going to be any more, if I can possibly help it. Compared to them, I’m afraid you just don’t signify. I’m sorry,” he added, “really. But that’s how it is.”

She looked at him. “All right,” she said. “I believe you. You’re cruel and nasty and you’re prepared to hurt me. So, what do you want to know?”

He breathed in slow and deep, out again the same way. “Oida isn’t just the go-between,” he said. “He works for the lodge. Is that right?”

“Yes.” He noticed her hands were quite still and relaxed under the table. “Yes, Oida’s first loyalty is to the lodge. As is mine.”

“What does he do for them?”

“What he’s told,” she replied. “It’s what we all do.”

Senza nodded. “Who does the telling?”

“I don’t know.” She lifted her head and looked at him. “That’s the truth, and if you know anything about the lodge, you’ll know it is. The lodge has a long and complicated chain of command, and at the top end you only know your immediate superior. You don’t know who’s above that, or who the real leaders are. Oida answers to someone, I honestly don’t know who. That someone answers to someone else. Maybe there’s a level above that, I really couldn’t say. It’s how we run things.”