Garion felt a sudden surge of profound distaste for the entire notion. “I’d really rather not do that,” he said, “or only as a last resort.”
“You Alorns have a peculiar notion of morality,” the eunuch said, rubbing at his shaved scalp. “You chop people in two without turning a hair, but you get queasy at the idea of poisons or drugs.”
“It’s a cultural thing, Sadi,” Silk told him.
“Have you found anything else that might work to our advantage?” Garion asked.
Sadi considered it. “Not by itself, no,” he replied. “A bureaucracy lends itself to endemic corruption, though. There are a number of people in Mallorea who take advantage of that. Caravans have a habit of getting waylaid in the Dalasian Mountains or on the road from Maga Renn. A caravan needs a permit from the Bureau of Commerce, and Vasca has been known on occasion to sell information about departure times and routes to certain robber chiefs. Or, if the price is right, he sells his silence to the merchant barons in Melcene.” The eunuch chuckled. “Once he sold information about one single caravan to three separate robber bands. There was a pitched battle on the plains of Delchin, or so I’m told.”
Garion’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I’m beginning to get the feeling that we might want to concentrate our attention on this Baron Vasca,” he said. “Velvet told us that he’s also trying to take the Bureau of Military Procurement away from the army.”
“I didn’t know that,” Silk said with some surprise. “Little Liselle is developing quite rapidly, isn’t she?”
“It’s the dimples, Prince Kheldar,” Sadi said. “I’m almost totally immune to any kind of feminine blandishment, but I have to admit that when she smiles at me, my knees turn to butter. She’s absolutely adorable—and totally unscrupulous, of course.”
Silk nodded. “Yes,” he said. “We’re moderately proud of her.”
“Why don’t you two go look her up?” Garion suggested. “Pool your information about this highly corruptible Baron Vasca. Maybe we can stir something up—something noisy. Open fighting in the halls of the palace might just be the sort of thing we need to cover our escape.”
“You have a genuine flair for politics, Belgarion,” Sadi said admiringly.
“I’m a quick learner,” Garion admitted, “and, of course, I keep company with some very disreputable men.”
“Thank you, your Majesty.” the eunuch replied with mock appreciation.
Shortly after supper, Garion walked through the halls of the palace for his customary evening conversation with ’Zakath. As always, a soft-footed secret policeman trailed along some distance behind.
’Zakath’s mood that evening was pensive—almost approaching the bleak, icy melancholy that had marked him back in Rak Hagga.
“Bad day?” Garion asked him, removing a sleeping kitten footstool in front of his chair. Then he leaned back and set his feet on the stool.
’Zakath made a sour face. “I’ve been whittling away at all the work that piled up while I was in Cthol Murgos,” he said. “The problem is that now that I’m back, the pile just keeps getting higher.”
“I know the feeling,” Garion agreed. “When I get back to Riva, it’s probably going to take me a year to clear my desk. Are you open to a suggestion?”
“Suggest away, Garion. Right now, I’ll listen to anything.” He looked reprovingly at the black and white kitten who was biting his knuckles again. “Not so hard,” he murmured, tapping the ferocious little beast on the nose with his forefinger. The kitten laid back its ears and growled a squeaky little growl at him.
“I’m not trying to be offensive or anything,” Garion began cautiously, “but I think you’re making the same mistake that Urgit made.”
“That’s an interesting observation. Go on.”
“It seems to me that you need to reorganize your government.”
’Zakath blinked. “Now, that is a major proposal,” he said. “I don’t get the connection, though. Urgit was a hopeless incompetent—at least he was before you came along and taught him the fundamentals of ruling. What is this mistake that he and I have in common?”
“Urgit’s a coward,” Garion said, “and probably always will be. You’re not a coward—sometimes a bit crazy, maybe, but never a coward. The problem is that you’re both making the same mistake. You’re trying to make all the decisions yourselves—even the little ones. Even if you stop sleeping altogether, you won’t find enough hours in the day to do that.”
“So I’ve noticed. What’s the solution?”
“Delegate responsibility. Your Bureau Chiefs and generals are competent—corrupt, I’ll grant you, but they know their jobs. Tell them to take care of things and only bring you the major decisions. And tell them that if anything goes wrong, you’ll replace them.”
“That’s not the Angarak way, Garion. The ruler—or Emperor, in this case—has always made all decisions.It’s been that way since before the cracking of the world.
Torak made every decision in antiquity, and the Emperors of Mallorea have followed that example—no matter what we may have felt about him personally.”
“Urgit made the exact same mistake,” Garion told him. “What you’re both forgetting is that Torak was a God, and his mind and will were unlimited. Human beings can’t possibly hope to imitate that sort of thing.”
“None of my Bureau Chiefs or generals could be trusted with that kind of authority,” ’Zakath said, shaking his head. “They’re almost out of control as it is.”
“They’ll learn the limits,” Garion assured him. “After a few of them have been demoted or dismissed, the rest will get the idea.”
’Zakath smiled bleakly. “That is also not the Angarak way, Garion. When I make an example of someone, it usually involves the headsman’s block.”
“That’s an internal matter, of course,” Garion admitted, “You know your people better than I do, but if a man has talent, you can’t really call on him again if you’ve removed his head, can you? Don’t waste talent, ’Zakath. It’s too hard to come by.”
“You know something?” ’Zakath said with a slightly amused look. “They call me the man of ice, but in spite of your mild-seeming behavior, you’re even more cold-blooded than I am. You’re the most practical man I’ve ever met.”
“I was raised in Sendaria, ’Zakath,” Garion reminded him. “Practicality is a religion there. I learned to run a kingdom from a man named Faldor. A kingdom is very much like a farm, really. Seriously, though, the major goal of any ruler is to keep things from flying apart, and gifted subordinates are too valuable a resource to waste. I’ve had to reprimand a few people, but that’s as far as it ever went. That way they were still around in case I needed them. You might want to think about that a little bit.”
“I’ll consider it.” ’Zakath straightened. “By the way,” he said, “speaking of corruption in government—”
“Oh? Were we speaking about that?”
“We’re about to. My Bureau Chiefs are all more or less dishonest, but your three friends are adding levels of sophistication to the petty scheming and deceit here in the palace that we’re not really prepared to cope with. ”
“Oh?”
“The lovely Margravine Liselle has actually managed to persuade the King of Pallia and the Prince Regent of Delchin that she’s going to intercede with you in their behalf. Each of them is absolutely convinced that their long-term squabble is about to come out into the open. I don’t want them to declare war on each other. I’ve got trouble in Karanda already.”
“I’ll have a word with her,” Garion promised.