City on Fire

“ELECTIONS WILL CONTINUE AS SCHEDULED,” INSISTS GOVERNMENT SPOKESMAN

The next day Holson and Galagas are forty minutes late. “Sorry,” Holson says after their arrival. “We couldn’t get away—” He looks uncharacteristically vague. “A meeting, with members of the Provisional command.”

Aiah wonders if Holson is rash enough to be involved in a bidding war with the Provisionals—but no, she thinks, that would be suicidal. It’s bad enough they’re contemplating treachery against one side; treachery against both would be fatal. She tells the officers that the War Ministry has given official approval to their agreement.

“Now all that is required,” Holson says, “is to honorably extract us from our commitments to the Provisionals.”

“Do you have a copy of the agreement? We do not.”

According to the agreement, Landro’s Escaliers are irrevocably committed to continue with the Provisionals for another three days, after which, if there is mutual agreement, the contract may be extended. If no agreement is reached, the Escaliers will continue in service for another ten days, time enough for them to be evacuated back to the Timocracy and replaced in the line by another unit.

“How are the Provisionals on the warranties clause?” Aiah asks. “They’ve paid you on time?” “Yes.”

Aiah skims the contract. “Have they arranged for sufficient supply, food, fuel, medical support, and—ah— other classes of logistical support as specified in Attached Agreement C?”

“The brigade whorehouse,” Galagas clarifies.

In the last months Aiah has become used to the ways of mercenary units, and is not surprised. She looks at Galagas.

“Has logistical support been, ah, sufficient in terms of the contract?”

Aiah wonders if a mercenary contract has ever been broken because prostitutes were not provided in sufficient number.

“Given the exigencies of war,” Holson says, “the government’s support has been adequate.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Aiah says. “I asked if the Provisionals’ logistical support has been sufficient in terms of the contract. Anything ever delivered late? Or delivered to the wrong people? Or the wrong stuff delivered to the wrong people?”

Given what Aiah knows of the military life, she would be amazed if this were not the case.

Holson and Galagas look at each other. Holson fingers his chin and shifts his weight uncomfortably in his chair. “Arrangements have not been perfect,” he says, “but I mislike breaking an agreement on these conditions, all so common in war. It could set an unfortunate precedent—any unit, on any side, would be justified in breaking its contract if this clause were strictly invoked.”

“Well,” Aiah says, turning pages, “we will keep that option in reserve.”

Unfortunately the contract is very straightforward and plainspoken, with few ambiguous clauses worthy of exploitation, and most of these involving situations that do not apply here. Maybe, Aiah thinks, it will have to be the whores after all.

“Can we arrange for the Provisionals to break the contract somehow?” Aiah asks.

They look at her. “In three days?” Holson asks. “How?”

“I keep coming back to the warranties clause,” Aiah says. “Can you arrange for some supplies to go astray? Suppose your food gets delivered to the wrong place…”

They consider this for a few minutes. Ideas are put forward, then rejected as too complex. Aiah scans the contract again.

“The signing bonus!” Aiah says finally. “What if that doesn’t get to you?”

Galagas seems relieved. “Well,” he says, “finally.”

It takes them only a few minutes to work out a plan, Aiah collaborating with the other two as if they had known each other for years, so smoothly that she wonders if there’s something, after all, to this business of the Cunning People having a special gift for duplicity.

Holson, they decide, will drag out negotiations with the Provisionals till practically the last minute. In the meantime, he will establish a new bank account in Garshab in order to receive the money. But the account number to which the Provisionals will be told to wire the signing bonus will be subtly different from the real number, a digit or two off.

When the deadline for payment passes without the bonus, Landro’s Escaliers will be free, legally and (it is hoped) morally, to sign another contract with someone else.

“We should have the contract with you in place beforehand,” Holson says. “That way we can take immediate action—holding a bridgehead, say—in accordance with the wishes of our new commanders.”

Aiah is surprised. “You can sign a contract before the old one has expired?”

“It will be provisional only. Full of thus-and-so’s, stipulating that in the event we are free of any other obligations before a certain date, we will consider ourselves yours to command. And we will give you an account number in Garshab”—he nods, with a significant smile—“a real’ account number, into which your government can place its good-faith deposit, perhaps one-tenth of the signing bonus?”

“I think this might be arranged.” He has anticipated, she notes, her objection to giving them their entire bonus, in case they re-sign with the Provisionals after all and dupe her government of all its dinars.

“We will return early third shift,” Holson says, “and bring the contracts with us. We can’t specify an exact hour—our other commitments are pressing.”

“I will wait, sir. I thank you both.”

Galagas—no longer so stiff and uncomfortable—reaches into a pocket and produces a silver flask. “I wonder, Miss Aiah, if you would join us in some kill-the-baby? It is from Barkazi.”

Aiah smiles. Kill-the-baby is a phrase her grandmother has used. “I would be honored, Colonel.”

Galagas raises the flask. “To success, and Barkazi.”

There is a strange light in his eyes. Aiah wonders at the man’s strange faith in her, in his belief that she is somehow destined to change the shape of things far away. It is beyond a mere credulity, and well into some mystical realm of faith she can’t herself understand.

He drinks and passes the flask to Aiah, who echoes the toast and takes a swig. It is brandy, harsh and fiery and absent of refinement, without doubt the worst stuff she has ever tasted. This baby is dead, she thinks. Eyes streaming, she passes the flask to Holson.

If this is what the homeland tastes like, she thinks, I am not going.

She sees her guests out, and as they say farewell Holson surprises her by embracing her, kissing her on both cheeks.

“I know we will accomplish great things,” he says.

Aiah manages through her surprise to retain her air of confidence. “I have no doubt,” she says, and then accepts Galagas’s somewhat more reserved embrace.

As Aiah watches the two officers make their way across the swaying bridge, she feels a kind of wonder that it has all worked out exactly as Constantine had, weeks ago, anticipated. He has maneuvered all of them, somehow, into this position, and will doubtless get his victory.

But what then? Aiah wonders. Aiah and the Escaliers have been maneuvered into this position, true, but the position is an artificial one. Aiah is not the redeemer of Barkazi—except on video, and in the mind of a deranged hermit back in Jaspeer—and the Escaliers are not an army of liberation. She doesn’t know how she can ever meet these people’s expectations.

We will accomplish great things.

She fears she is going to be a terrible disappointment to everyone who believes in her.

Aiah returns to Lamarath’s office to organize her notes and finds Lamarath there, along with one of his hulking guards. One of the locked metal cabinets has been opened, and Aiah sees inside it a video camera, set to gaze at the room through a spyhole. Lamarath has opened the camera and is removing the video cartridge.

Aiah looks at the camera in shock. “The meetings were recorded?”

Lamarath looks at her over his shoulder. “You didn’t know?” He seems surprised.