Devices and Desires by K. J. Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

bloke had done this
     or that, or where he kept his day-books, or what this funny little shorthand squiggle was supposed to mean. The world would
     get over him, the way we get over our first ever broken heart, or a bad stomach upset. Somehow, the idea didn’t scare him
     or fill him with rage. It would probably be worse to be remembered and mourned for a long time. There’d be sympathy and condolences,
     tearing the wound open every time it started to scab over. That was always Ziani’s chair; do you remember the time Ziani got
     his sleeve caught in the lathe chuck; Ziani lent this to me and I never had a chance to give it back.
    If it had been a sudden illness, say, or a freak accident; if he’d been stabbed in the street or killed in a war; you could
     get angry about that, the stuff of tragedy. But to find yourself in the cells waiting to be strangled to death, all on account
     of a few measurements; it was so bewildering, so impossible to understand, that he could only feel numb. He simply hadn’t
     seen it coming. It was like being beaten at chess by a four-year-old.
    The door started to open, and immediately he thought, here it is. But when Bollo came in (still looking decidedly thoughtful),
     he didn’t usher in the man in the black hood, the ends of the bowstring doubled round his gloved hands. The man who was with
     him was no stranger.
    Ziani looked up. “Falier?” he said.
    “Me,” Falier answered. Bollo glanced at him, nodded, left the cell and bolted the door behind him. “I came…”
    “To say goodbye,” Ziani helped him out. “It’s all right, I’m being really calm about it. Sort of stunned, really. With any
     luck, by the time the truth hits me I’ll have been dead for an hour. Sit down.”
    His friend looked round. “What on?”
    “The floor.”
    “All right.” Falier folded his long legs and rested his bottom tentatively on the flagstones. “It’s bloody cold in here, Ziani.
     You want to ask to see the manager.”
    “It’ll be a damn sight colder where I’m going,” Ziani replied. “Isn’t that what they say? Abominators and traitors go to the
     great ice pool, stand up to their necks in freezing cold water for all eternity?”
    Falier frowned. “You believe that?”
    “Absolutely,” Ziani said. “A chaplain told me, so it must be true.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Gallows humor, you see,”
     he said. “It means I’m either incredibly brave in the face of death, or so hopelessly corrupt I don’t even take eternal damnation
     seriously.”
    “Right,” Falier said, looking at him. “Sorry,” he said, “I haven’t got a clue what to say.”
    “Don’t worry about it. After all, if you really piss me off and I hold a grudge for the rest of my life, that’s — what, three-quarters
     of an hour? You can handle it.”
    Falier shook his head. “You always were a kidder, Ziani,” he said. “Always Laughing Boy. It was bloody annoying in a foreman,
     but you make a good martyr.”
    “Martyr!” Ziani opened his eyes and laughed. “Fine. If someone’d do me a favor and let me know what I’m dying for, I’ll try
     and do it justice.”
    “Oh, they’ll come up with something,” Falier said. “Well, I guess this is the bit where I ask you if you’ve got any messages.
     For Ariessa, and Moritsa. Sorry,” he added.
    Ziani shrugged. “Think of something for me, you’re good with words. Anything I could come up with would be way short of the
     mark: I love you, I miss you, I wish this hadn’t happened. They deserve better than that.”
    “Actually.” Falier sounded like he was the condemned man. “It’s Ariessa and Moritsa I wanted to talk to you about. I’m really
     sorry to have to bring this up, but it’s got to be done. Ziani, you do realize what’s going to happen to them, don’t you?”
    For the first time, a little worm of fear wriggled in Ziani’s stomach. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
    Falier took a deep breath.