Valens sat and stared at the sketches for a long time. 'We're talking about every cart in the duchy,' he said at last. 'There's not enough sheet iron in the whole world.'
Ziani laughed. 'Please,' he said, 'trust me to understand about material procurement. I used to run a factory, remember. That's the real beauty of the whole scheme. Sheet iron is just iron you heat up and bash until it's spread out flat and thin. You don't need trained smiths or engineers, just a lot of strong men with hammers.'
'The miners,' Valens murmured.
'Strong men used to hammering.' Ziani nodded. 'And badly in need of something to do. As for iron; well, even simple rustic folk like yourselves use iron for practically everything. You build a dozen big furnaces, say-bricks and clay, nothing complex or time-consuming-and you cook up all the iron tools and furniture and fittings and stuff you don't actually need to take with you on the journey-all the things you were planning on abandoning for the Mezentines to loot, basically; you melt it and pour it into great big puddles, what we call blooms, and then your ex-miners and your soldiers and anybody who can swing a hammer bashes it out into sheets. I'll need a few competent men to cut the sheets and fit them, of course, but that's about it as far as skilled tradesmen go. As for how long it'll take; that'll depend on how many people we can get on it.'
Valens said nothing for a long time. 'Fuel,' he said at last. 'You'll need a hell of a lot of coal or charcoal or whatever it is you use.'
'All of which you've got,' Ziani pointed out, with more than a touch of smugness. 'Stockpiled, at the mines. I've taken the liberty of having an inventory made of the supplies you've got available. I think there'll be plenty. Even if the whole idea is a complete failure, at the very least that's one more resource the Mezentines won't be able to load up and take home with them.'
That made Valens smile. 'Business thinking,' he said.
'I'm a Mezentine,' Ziani replied. 'Cost out everything before you start, know where your supplies are coming from so you aren't taken short halfway through the job, and try not to waste anything. Oddly enough, there's nothing about that sort of thing in your art-of-war book. Maybe that's because you really do think of it as an art, rather than a trade; you expect it to be financed by wealthy amateur patrons, instead of running to a budget.'
Valens laughed. As he did so, he realized that the man he was facing was essentially a stranger, someone he hadn't talked to before. Maybe, he thought, it's simply the confidence of an expert in his element; but that wasn't all of it, by any means. The other thing the Mezentines were famous for, he remembered: they were reckoned to be born salesmen.
'All right,' he said. 'We'll give it a go. Now, you see, I've been learning from you as well. Build me some prototypes, so I can see, for myself if any of this'll work. Build me a shielded wagon, and a scrap-iron furnace. If I give you full cooperation, how long will you need?'
Ziani took a deep breath, as if this was the moment he hadn't been looking forward to. 'I'll need to build the furnace in order to make the material for the wagon,' he said. 'Ten days?'
'You're serious? Ten days?'
'We don't have much time before the evacuation, you said,' Ziani replied. 'While I'm making these prototypes, I can be training the men who'll be my foremen once we're doing it for real. Yes, ten days.'
'Fine,' Valens said, frowning. 'Ten days. You'll be wanting to start right away, so don't let me keep you. I'll have Carausius write you a general commission; that'll authorize you to make all the requisitions you want, men and supplies. Good luck.'
'Thank you.' Ziani stood up to leave. Valens let him get as far as the door, then said, 'One other thing.'
'Yes.'
'I had a rather strange conversation with Jarnac Ducas a while ago,' Valens said. 'You know, Miel Ducas' cousin. Presumably you came across him at Civitas Eremiae.'
'I know who you mean,' Ziani said.
'Thought you might.' Valens paused for a moment, leaving Ziani standing in the doorway, his hand on the latch. 'Anyway, Jarnac Ducas told me a rather curious story about you.' He smiled. 'I'm not sure how to phrase this without sounding hopelessly melodramatic. The gist of it was, you're supposed to have cooked up some kind of plot to get Miel Ducas disgraced. Something to do with the Duchess, and a letter.'
'Oh, that.' Ziani looked at him; it was the way the feeding deer looks up at a slight noise from the hunter; not fear, but more than curiosity. 'Well, I can't blame the Ducas for being angry about it, but he only had himself to blame. A man in his position…' He shrugged. 'What exactly did he say I'd done?'
'I can't remember, to be honest with you,' Valens said smoothly. 'I prefer not to listen to personal quarrels, unless they're getting in the way. But I'd be interested to hear what it was actually all about.'
Ziani's face closed like a door. 'The Duchess lost one of your letters,' he said, 'or it was intercepted, or something like that. The Ducas got hold of it, and kept it instead of taking it to Duke Orsea. I assume he was going to blackmail her with it, or else he had some scheme going on for getting rid of Orsea and taking the throne. I think he was always a bit resentful about Orsea marrying the Sirupati heiress; that's the impression I got from what people were saying, anyhow. They were more or less engaged at one time, I understand.'
'I see,' Valens replied. 'And so when you found out about the letter…'
'I wish I hadn't,' Ziani said. 'The plain fact is, Miel Ducas was a much more competent soldier than Orsea, he'd have made a much better duke. But it wasn't my choice to make; I wasn't even an Eremian citizen, I was Orsea's guest. When I found evidence that pointed to the Ducas plotting against him, I didn't really have any option. Of course,' he went on, 'there's no hard evidence to prove that the Ducas had anything to do with the city being betrayed to the Mezentines, it's all circumstantial. On the other hand…'
'You think the Ducas handed over the city to your people?'
Ziani shook his head. 'Really, it's none of my business. Yes, the Ducas seems to be the only man with a strong motive who was actually in a position to do it. That's evidence, but it's not proof. So, if you're asking me if I blame myself for the betrayal of Civitas Eremiae, I'd have to say no. I may have influenced matters to a degree, but at the end of the day I know it wasn't my fault. Why, how do you see it?'
Valens smiled wryly. 'Well,' he said, 'naturally I don't like the thought that the man who opened the gates of Civitas Eremiae could be here, in my city, prepared to do the same again or something similar if he feels his personal agenda requires it. Do you think I ought to do something about Miel Ducas?'
'He's not here, though,' Ziani replied. 'Isn't he still in Eremia, leading the resistance?'
'So he is. Mind you, the resistance has more or less run out of steam now. I've stopped supplying them, they're not a good investment. So, presumably, Miel Ducas will be coming here sooner or later. What do you think I should do with him when he arrives?'
Ziani shook his head. 'Not up to me, I'm delighted to say,' he said. 'I don't think I could do that; make decisions about other people's lives, I mean. You'd have to be so very sure you were doing the right thing, or else how could you live with yourself?'
'Oh, you manage,' Valens said casually. 'After a while, you get the knack of being able to forget they're people, and you start seeing them as pieces in a game, or components in a machine. I'm not saying it's something to be proud of, but you can train yourself to do it easily enough.'
'I'll take your word for it,' Ziani said. 'It's not something I'd like to find out by experience.'
Ziani left the Duke's tower and walked quickly across the yard, as though he was afraid someone would come after him. Valens, he decided, reminded him of what his old supervisor used to say about the vertical mill. The most useful machine in the shop is usually also the most dangerous.
Ten days; had he really said that? Crazy. Even so; if Valens had brought the wedding date forward, as he'd just said, ten days was about all the time he had.
He went back to his room. There was a letter waiting for him; an invitation from the Lord Chamberlain to attend the royal wedding. He read it quickly, looking for the important part. There was a timetable; early morning reception, the wedding itself, then the wedding breakfast, another reception, followed by an afternoon's falconry, in honor of the bride and her guests. By implication he was invited to that, too. He smiled.
Enough of that. Just enough time, before collecting his commission from the Chancery, to see to the other chores. He put on his coat and hurried out of the castle, into town.
'I was beginning to wonder about you,' the woman said, as he walked through the door into the back room of the Selfless Devotion. 'We're supposed to be partners; and then you vanish up to the castle for weeks on end, and I don't hear a word out of you.'
