“Yes…unless you have pressing business,” Rosacher said. “I’ve been keeping up with the production of mab and the House more-or-less runs itself. If your visit has nothing to do with our enterprise, I’m not in the mood to chat.”
“From where I’m sitting, it looks as though you’re in the mood to fart and scratch your bedsores…but not much else.”
Rosacher said nothing.
“Very well,” Breque said. “I have a proposal for you. It may be pressing, but I’m not sure I’d call it ‘business’.” Breque wrinkled his nose. “It stinks in here.”
“Another reason for you to leave.” Rosacher rolled onto his side to face the wall. “Anyway, I like it—it’s my stink.”
“When’s the last time you allowed someone in to clean?”
“Goodbye,” said Rosacher.
After a prolonged silence Breque said, “We’ve known each other for many years, Richard. We aren’t always on the same side of an issue, but we’ve learned to practice the art of compromise with one another and I…”
“Do you actually think this is instructive?” Rosacher made a disparaging noise. “At any rate, you’re the one who’s compromised, not I.”
“Have it your way. Whatever the case, we’ve helped each other over some rough patches and I dare say we’ve forged a strong friendship.”
“Friendship?” Rosacher turned to Breque. “Don’t make me laugh!”
“Are you asserting that you’re not my friend?”
“Did I hurt your feelings? I’m sorry, I assumed you were joking. Every human interaction I know of is based upon greed…or the desire for security. Which is merely a more pernicious form of greed. By that criteria, you could say that cobras and hedgehogs are friends.”
“If we’re not friends, how would you characterize our relationship?”
“A criminal association leavened by certain social obligations. You’d have to be a fool to think it’s anything more.”
“Then I must be a fool.” Breque crossed his legs and shifted about in the chair until he was comfortable. “I value you as an ally and a friend. And that’s why I’m here. To suggest that you utilize my friendship and heed my advice.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear your advice.” Rosacher sat up and made a show of adjusting pillows behind his back. “There! I’m ready to receive the benefit of your vast experience and wisdom.”
“You need to busy yourself. Find something that challenges you and set yourself to overcome it.”
Rosacher rolled his eyes. “Next you’ll be telling me to adopt a puppy and learn to love again.”
“Your period of mourning, if that’s what this is, has damaged…”
“What else would it be?”
“I don’t doubt that you mourn for Amelita. I understand that you loved her. But mourning is a process that should not entail you becoming subsumed by a memory. You’ve never been what I’d call a happy person…”
Rosacher gave a sardonic laugh. “Now there’s a revelation!”
“…but neither have you been especially gloomy. Yet you’ve adopted Amelita’s defeatism, her absolute pessimism, and made these qualities into a kind of memorial.”
“It could be I’ve realized she was right about things.”
“Or perhaps you’re enjoying your misery. Indulging it. Her death provides you with a wonderful excuse for failure.”
“Get out!”
“No,” said Breque. “I don’t think I will. I think I’ll stay right here and watch you drink yourself into a stupor, or however else you plan to spend the day. Perhaps I’ll take notes on your decay. I may want to write a biography on the topic some day, a paper containing my speculations as to whether the rotting away of the soul precedes the rotting of the flesh, or vice versa.”
The silence and dimness of the room seemed to combine into a heavy mantle that draped itself about Rosacher’s shoulders. “What do you want of me?” he asked.
“I’ve brought you a project,” said Breque. “It’s a problem in a field of knowledge about which you know very little, but I’m confident that you can resolve it in our favor. The quality I admire most in you, Richard, is your ability to cut through the fat and get to the meat of an issue.” He picked up the folder and placed it on the bed. “There’s a lot of fat here, but I’m hopeful that you’ll be able to cut through it swiftly.”
“A project, eh?” Rosacher poked the folder with a forefinger, as if he expected it to bite. “Tell me about it.”
“The folder contains plans, maps, and a number of suggestions offered by the former head of the militia regarding…”
“Corley? I wouldn’t trust the worth of any suggestions he had to offer.”
“I’m referring to General Aldo.”
“Aldo? He’s a competent leader, somewhat impetuous, but an excellent strategist. What happened? Did you demote him? If so, that was not wise.”
“He proved too impetuous for his own good. He took a troop across the Temalaguan border two weeks ago—against my orders—and was killed in a skirmish.”
“Who has taken over command? Mees would be my choice.”
“Mees contracted a severe case of fever when he was last in the south. He’ll be bedridden for several weeks. Thus far I’ve been unable to find a suitable replacement.”
Rosacher hissed in frustration. “Aldo may have disobeyed orders, but you always pressured him to be more aggressive. This has to be laid at your feet.”
“I readily admit that some of the problem is due to a miscalculation on my part, but now is not the time to assign blame. We have to devise a means of forestalling the combined aggression of Temalagua and Mospiel.”
“What are you saying? They’re acting in concert?”
Breque nodded. “My operatives have reported that they have been planning an assault on Teocinte for the past several weeks. I notified Aldo and this…” He tapped the folder. “This is the plan he had begun working on when he died.”
“What in God’s name did you do to get us into this mess? Mospiel and Temalagua would never have joined forces unless you gave them extreme provocation. There must have been more to it than an ill-conceived foray into Temalagua.”
“It’s as I said, I miscalculated. We can discuss the extent of my malfeasance and what portion of blame attaches to me at a later date. It’s imperative now that we construct a defense against the attack. We have a month to achieve this, possibly less, possibly a bit more.”
“A month.”
“Approximately. Aldo estimated that we might be able to count on six weeks at the outside…unless we’re able to create a diversion that slows down their preparations.”
“You’ve finally got what you wanted,” Rosacher said bitterly. “A full-fledged war…and against two of our enemies, not one. My congratulations.”
“Whatever their past differences, Mospiel joining forces with Temalagua was an inevitability. So Aldo believed. All the skirmish did was accelerate the timetable.”
A feeling of malaise crept over Rosacher—it was as if he were being lowered into a tepid bath that dulled his senses and heavied his limbs. “Maybe we should put our fate in Griaule’s hands. If he could save a nation from certain disaster, that would be the ultimate proof of his divinity. And if not, we deserve to be slaughtered for our reliance on a false god.”
“That is precisely why I’ve brought Aldo’s papers to you.” Breque leaned forward in his chair, a new intensity in his voice. “Of all the people I have known, you have the strongest connection with Griaule. Over and over again his will has manifested in your life, and each time a miracle of sorts has transpired. I realize you’ve had occasion to doubt this, but I’m certain that beneath your doubt lies an indestructible core of faith. You’ve become Griaule’s chosen weapon against all that threatens him.”