‘It had its moments,’ Bardas replied.
‘Better than digging mines, I expect.’
‘Most things are.’
‘I believe you.’ The clerk picked up a short, thin-bladed knife and started trimming a pen. ‘You’ll find the prefect is a pretty fair-minded sort of man; remarkably unprejudiced, really, for an army officer. You play straight with him and he’ll play straight with you.’
‘I’ll definitely bear that in mind,’ Bardas said.
Through the window came the scent of some strong, sweet flower – a pepper-vine, at a guess; he’d noticed that the walls of the prefecture were covered in them. There was also a lingering smell of perfume, the sticks they burned here to mask out the other strong, sweet smells. A bird of some description squawked on the parapet above the window.
‘Of course, most of the senior officers-’ The clerk never got to finish his sentence, because the door opened and a man in uniform (dark-brown gambeson, steel gorget, dress dummy pauldrons, vambraces and cops) walked past without looking at either of them. ‘He’ll see you now,’ the clerk said, and turned his attention to the papers on his desk. Bardas got up and walked into the office.
The prefect was a big man, even by the standard of the Sons of Heaven; darker than most of those Bardas had come across at Ap’ Escatoy, which suggested he was from the inner provinces, a man of consequence. His head was bald and his beard was cropped short and close. The top joint of his left little finger was missing.
‘Bardas Loredan,’ he said.
Bardas nodded.
‘Sit down, please.’ The prefect studied him for a moment, then nodded towards the empty chair. ‘Presumably you have a certificate from your commanding officer at Ap’ Escatoy.’
Bardas pulled the little brass cylinder out from his sleeve and handed it over. Carefully the prefect popped off the caps and poked the curl of paper out with the tip of his mutilated finger.
‘Please bear with me,’ he said as he unrolled it, and as he read it his face was a study in concentration.
‘A fascinating career,’ he said at last. ‘You were second in command of Maxen’s army.’
Baras nodded.
‘Remarkable,’ the prefect said. ‘And then your years as a law-fencer – a most intriguing occupation – followed by your brief service as colonel-general of Perimadeia.’ He looked up. ‘I’ve read about it, of course,’ he said. ‘A fine defence, under the circumstances. And the final assault really only made possible by treachery, so hardly your fault.’
‘Thank you,’ Bardas said.
‘And after that,’ the prefect went on, ‘a somewhat shadowy role in the war between the Shastel Order and Scona; well, we won’t go into that, it was a most unusual sequence of events by all accounts.’ He paused, but Bardas didn’t say anything, so he continued, ‘After which you enlisted as a private soldier with the provincial office and spent – let’s see – three years, give or take a week, in the saps at Ap’ Escatoy, a most distinguished tour of duty by any standards.’ He looked at Bardas again, with no perceptible expression. ‘Very much the stuff of legends,’ he said.
‘It didn’t seem that way at the time,’ Bardas said.
The prefect considered for a moment, then laughed. ‘No, of course not. Now then, what else have we got here? Ah, yes, your brother Gorgas; the same Gorgas Loredan who staged the military coup in the Mesoge. Clearly soldiering runs in the family. Another remarkable career, by all accounts. And very shrewd, strategically speaking. The importance of the Mesoge as a potential theatre of confrontation has been sorely underestimated, in my opinion.’
Bardas thought for a moment. ‘That’s Gorgas for you,’ he said. ‘Though my sister’s the smart one in our family.’
The prefect smiled again. ‘Do you really think so?’ he said. ‘To build up a thriving business and then lose it so quickly, over such a trifling series of incidents? Well, of course I can’t claim to know all the facts.’ Again he paused, then continued, ‘All in all,’ he said, ‘an impressive resume for a sergeant of engineers. I confess, I’m curious as to how you came to join the provincial office, a man with your talents and experience. I’d have thought you’d have found something rather more challenging.’
‘Well, you know how it is,’ Bardas said. ‘Wars seem to follow me about, whenever I get myself settled. So I thought this time I’d go and find one, before it found me.’
The prefect looked at him as if he hadn’t quite understood. ‘An interesting perspective,’ he said. ‘In any event, your service in the siege of Ap’ Escatoy certainly merits a tangible reward, and the provincial office knows the importance of looking after its own. It ought to be possible to find a situation that will prove rewarding to you and which makes rather better use of your talents than the mines.’ He glanced back at the paper in front of him. ‘I see you have practical experience in manufacturing,’ he said.
‘I used to make bows,’ Bardas replied.
‘You were good at it?’
‘Fairly good,’ Bardas said. ‘A lot depends on getting the right materials.’
The prefect frowned, then nodded. ‘Quite right,’ he said. ‘Our procurement office takes particular care to ensure that all our specifications are properly met. And of course,’ he went on, ‘we’re equally thorough when it comes to quality control. Which is why the proof house is such an important part of our manufacturing procedure.’
‘Proof house,’ Bardas repeated. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means.’
For some reason, that seemed to amuse the prefect. ‘There’s no reason why you should,’ he said. ‘It’s a rather specialised department. Essentially, the proof house is where we test the armour we issue to our soldiers. It’s a subdivision of the district armoury at Ap’ Calick, although we test samples from provinces all over the western Empire.’ The prefect drummed his fingers on the desktop in a quick, orderly rhythm. ‘There’s a vacancy for a deputy inspector at Ap’ Calick. The post is equivalent in rank to sergeant-of-fifty, so it would represent a significant promotion; obviously it’s not a combat assignment, but I venture to suggest that after such a protracted tour of front-line duty, the change would not be unwelcome. Mostly, though, the combination of proven administrative skills and considerable first-hand combat experience that your record suggests make you a thoroughly logical choice for this duty. Provided,’ the prefect added, with a smile, ‘it meets with your approval.’
Bardas looked up. ‘Oh, absolutely,’ he said. ‘Anything that doesn’t involve killing people down dark tunnels will do me just fine. Thank you.’
The prefect looked at him, his head slightly on one side, with the air of a man reluctantly giving up on an insoluble problem. ‘My pleasure,’ he said. ‘If you’d care to call back tomorrow, any time after midday, my clerk should have your certificate and transit documents ready. You can use the post to get there; not that there’s any immediate hurry, but it can be an awkward journey by conventional means.’ The prefect stood up, indicating that the interview was over. Bardas followed suit. ‘Good luck, Sergeant Loredan. I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job in Ap’ Calick.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Bardas replied. He opened the door, then hesitated. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘just one quick question. How do you go about testing armour?’
The prefect spread his hands. ‘I really don’t know,’ he said. ‘I assume by simulating the sort of strain and damage it’s likely to undergo in actual combat.’
Bardas nodded. ‘Bashing it with swords,’ he said. ‘That sort of thing. Should be fun. Thank you.’ He closed the door behind him before the prefect could say anything else.
Of course, Bardas knew all about the post. Everyone in the Empire had come across it at some time, usually in the context of scurrying out of its way. The post-horses, as everybody knew, stopped for nothing; they were explicitly allowed to ride down anybody who couldn’t get out of the road quickly enough, and the post-riders seemed to delight in taking every opportunity they could to exercise this privilege.