"Yes. But for a very good reason. He died."
Valens flipped the counter again. This time he dropped it. "How sad. So, why didn't his widow sell the secret to someone else, if she didn't like running the route herself?"
Ziani grinned. "Nobody would've bought it. Not safe, you see."
"Not safe. You're doing a wonderful job of persuading me."
"Not safe," Ziani said doggedly, "because one of his contacts had given away the secret to a Cure Hardy bandit chief. That's how the husband died; the Cure Hardy ambushed him. Once they'd started infesting the route, who'd want to buy it?"
Valens sighed. "Sorry if I'm being unreasonably skeptical," he said, "but if the Cure Hardy knew about a short cut across the desert, why did my dear wife and her party come the long way round, with half of them dropping dead along the way?"
But when the component finally fits, there's a soft, firm click and the wheel begins to run. "I believe the secret was lost when the bandit chief and his raiding party got themselves wiped out. They'd kept it to themselves, for obvious reasons. Nobody else knew about it, apart from my merchant's husband."
"You're speculating."
"Not really," Ziani said. "The bandit's name was Skeddanlothi, and you killed him."
Valens picked another counter off the board, gripping its rim between thumb and forefinger. "The name rings a bell," he said.
"Skeddanlothi and his gang were raiding quite deep in Vadani territory; near here, in fact. Just over those mountains, and-"
"Thank you, yes, I remember." Valens frowned. "It's true, I couldn't for the life of me figure out how they'd managed to get this deep into our space without being picked up on the border; come to that, why it was worth their while coming all the way out here, across the desert, just to steal a few goats." He switched the counter from his left hand to his right. "Have you got all these papers; the journals, and all that stuff?"
Ziani shook his head. "But I did see them. I read them, every word. They bear out the map. I can describe each of the oases for you, if you like. At the first one, there's a row of wooden sheds, where the merchant's husband kept a stockpile of salt. There's a pen for the horses, and a stone silo for grain and forage. The roof blew off it in a sandstorm, so it's patched up in places. He had to take two mules loaded with slates to make good the damage. There's probably still some grain left in the bins, though it'll be six years old at the very least. I don't know if grain keeps that long."
"If it's dry and dark," Valens said absently, "and the rats haven't got in. But of course I can't check any of this unless I actually go there."
Ziani shrugged. "It was in the journals."
"Presumably this merchant of yours had employees," Valens went on. "They'd have known the route. Why haven't any of them tried to use the secret? Can you produce one of them to back up your claim?"
"No, of course not." Ziani scowled. "There were four of them. Two died in the ambush. One died about six months later. The other one borrowed money from the widow to set up a grain mill at Gannae Flevis. He was still making payments, the last time I spoke to the widow."
Valens nodded. "What about her?" he said. "If she was living in the city, she ought to be somewhere in the convoy."
Ziani shook his head. "She didn't like the idea," he said. "She told me she was going to join her niece's mule-train, trading fabrics with the Cure Doce. I'm sorry, I didn't ask for any details, so I've got no idea where she's likely to be."
"That's a nuisance," Valens said. He yawned. "Sorry, I'm a bit weary. It's been a long day. And you'll have to excuse my skepticism," he went on. "But-well, let's suppose somebody wanted to hand me over to the Mezentines, on a silver dish with an apple in my mouth. It'd help enormously if I could be persuaded to take a specified route, so they'd know exactly where to wait for me."
"There is that." Ziani had caught his breath. "Assuming you think I'd want to do such a thing. And that the Republic would negotiate with me. But I guess you don't think that."
Valens snuggled his back against the hub of the wheel, as though scratching an itch. "Anything's possible," he said. "I could build up a fairly convincing case if I wanted to. For a start, where did you get to when the rest of us left the city? Yes, I know you went to Boatta and picked up the miners. But maybe you didn't go straight there. Maybe you took a detour to meet someone; a Mezentine, maybe, with an interesting offer to put to you. Help us end the war and you can come home, no hard feelings. Maybe even your old job back, in the weapons factory. A man could be tempted."
"You think so?"
"I would be, for sure." Valens shrugged. "Assuming I could believe they really meant it. It can be a real bitch sometimes, can't it, knowing who you can believe in."
"If you say so."
"For example," Valens said, "there's this Miel Ducas, and his cousin; the one who got killed just now. They were convinced, both of them, that you were up to no good. The Ducas was sure that you were responsible for him getting arrested for treason. He even went as far as to tell his cousin you'd admitted it, to his face. And Jarnac Ducas told one of his senior officers, who told someone else… Maybe the story got stretched a bit in the retelling, I don't know. It all strikes me as a little bit far-fetched."
"Actually," Ziani said, "it's perfectly true. I found out about-well, the letter. I thought I could do myself some good with Duke Orsea by telling him. I wanted to get sole command of the defense of Civitas Eremiae."
"Really? Why?"
"Because my scorpions were the defense, mostly," Ziani replied with a shrug. "I didn't want some amateur nobleman interfering. Also, I wanted Miel Ducas' job. And his land, and his money. Didn't do me much good in the end, of course. But he was guilty, remember. It's not like I forged the letter."
Valens smiled. "That's true," he said. "You didn't write the letter, I did. You just carried out your duty as a loyal subject. Not that you were one, of course." He yawned again, though this time it was forced. "My father had a saying," he continued. "I love treachery, he used to say, but I can't stand traitors. He was full of stuff like that. Other people's lines, mostly, but he passed them off as his own. Never fooled anybody. Credibility, you see. He told so many lies, people tended not to believe him even when he was telling the truth. Personally, I've always tried to be the opposite: tell the truth, and people know where they stand with you." He frowned, then said, "Let me have a look at that map."
Ziani handed it to him. Valens glanced at it.
"There has been a traitor working for the Mezentines," he went on. "That's how come there was a full regiment of Mezentine cavalry waiting for us at Cor Evenis, down on the main east road. For all I know they're still there, wondering why we haven't shown up yet. I told the traitor that's where we were headed, just before we left the city; then I sent some fast scouts, to see if there was an ambush laid for us. They reported back just before the attack on the column here; too late for me to do anything about it, because the traitor got killed in the battle. You may have come across him; General Mezentius."
"He was a-"
Valens nodded. "Rather a shock to me. Still, I suppose he figured we didn't stand a chance in the war, and wanted to get in with the winning side. Can't blame him. Loyalty's a wonderful thing, but any virtue taken to excess turns into stupidity in the end. The silly part of it is, it was a Mezentine who told me about him; inadvertently, of course. Anyway, that's beside the point. The question is, do I believe in you and your map? And if I believe in you, do I also believe there really is a road across the desert?" He sighed. "It'd be lovely if I could," he said. "Even if the Mezentines managed to follow us, I don't suppose they'd want to risk upsetting the Cure Hardy. I get the impression that they're the only force on earth your lot are genuinely scared of; not that it's ever lost them any sleep, because there's that wonderful desert in the way, keeping them penned in like a bull in a paddock. If ever they got the idea that the desert could be crossed after all, I reckon they might make some serious changes to their entire foreign policy." He closed his eyes. "I'm not entirely sure how the Aram Chantat will react if I turn up without their crown princess. They're likely to be upset, but whether with me or the Perpetual Republic I couldn't safely predict. There's also the fact that I've sent out a lot of scouts-good men, my own personal intelligence corps-and they assure me there aren't any Mezentine forces I don't already know about lurking behind rocks this side of the city. If you really were leading me into an ambush, they'd probably have found the assault party by now. A regiment of heavy cavalry's not an easy thing to hide in open country."