The temptation, wicked and seductive, was to lie back and pretend to be asleep; but no, he couldn't do that. The young soldier was scared, on the edge of panic and, very probably, in charge.
He needed his duke's help. "Yes, it's all right," Valens muttered, opening his eyes wide and making an effort to resolve the blur into the soldier's face. Never seen him before: a long, thin nose, weak mouth and a round bobble for a chin. If anybody's having a worse day than me, Valens thought, it'll be this poor devil. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't take any of that in. This is the casualty list, yes?"
"Yes, sir." He saw the young man-Brennus, he knew the family but not this particular specimen-take a deep breath, ready to start the whole painful rigmarole over again. He felt sorry for him, but it had to be done.
"First things first," Valens said. "The Duchess. Is she…?"
"She's fine, sir. At least, as well as can be expected."
"Her uncles?"
The fear in Captain Brennus' eyes made the words superfluous. "Both dead," he said. "They died defending the Duchess, but they had nothing to fight with."
"Yes, all right. Who else?"
The cataract of names. He wasn't counting; the list seemed to go on forever. There'd be two he'd never heard of, then three he'd known since he was a boy, then another stranger, then another old friend or cousin. Carausius was dead; that shocked him so much he missed the next five names.
"Orsea?" he interrupted.
"No, sir. Both he and the Duchess survived."
Valens nodded, and the recital continued. Orsea had survived-well, of course he had, it went without saying. The sky could cave in and flatten the earth, mile-wide fissures could open and gobble up the city, but Orsea would survive, somehow or other. "What about Ziani Vaatzes, the engineer? Did they get him?"
Captain Brennus shook his head. "No, sir, he was the one who raised the alarm. If it hadn't been for him…"
Valens groaned; he hadn't meant to, but the pain popped up suddenly and ambushed him. "What sort of a state am I in?" he asked.
"Well, sir…" Brennus hesitated. "Maybe I should get the doctor, he can tell you more."
Valens felt his chest tighten. "That bad?"
"No, sir. I mean-"
"Oh for crying out loud. Am I going to die, or not?"
It was almost amusing to see Brennus pull himself together. "You got a bad cut to your left arm; they've stitched and dressed it, but there may be some permanent damage. The arrow-"
Valens' eyebrows shot up. "I was hit by an arrow?"
"Yes, sir."
"I never even noticed. Where?"
"In the right thigh," Brennus said, his voice wavering. "The shaft was already snapped off when the surgeons treated you; they had to cut it out, but they don't think there'll be any lasting effect."
Valens smiled. "Is that it?"
"Concussion," Brennus said, "from the fall. They were quite worried, because you were unconscious for so long."
"Was I?" Valens pulled a face. "Well, I wouldn't know about that, I've been asleep." That seemed to bother Brennus a lot; was he supposed to laugh at the Duke's feeble, scrambled-brain jokes, or should he ignore them? Best, Valens decided, if I don't make any more. "So apart from that I'm all right?" he said.
"The doctors said you shouldn't even think about getting up for at least two days," Brennus said apprehensively, obviously anticipating a storm of angry refusal. Valens nodded.
"Suits me," he said. "For one thing, it feels like I've pulled every muscle in my body." He winced, remembering some of the things he'd done. His own worst enemy and all that. "All right, then," he said briskly, "who's in charge? It doesn't sound like there's many of us left."
He didn't like the pause that followed; not one little bit. "It's you, isn't it?" Valens said.
Brennus swallowed something. "I was the duty officer," he said, as though admitting that he'd planned the whole thing, suborned by Mezentine gold. "I've sent messages to the divisional commanders, someone ought to be here before sunset, but until then I suppose, theoretically…"
Valens smiled. "You carry on," he said. "You appear to be doing a fine job." He paused, then added, "Is anybody at all left out of the civil administration? Anybody higher up than, say, a permanent secretary?"
It was meant as one of those jokes he'd resolved he wouldn't make, but then there was another pause. Valens frowned. That wasn't good.
"I see," he said. "In that case, I'm putting the military in charge until we can get everything sorted out. You're it, in other words."
Brennus looked as though he'd just been sentenced to death by bastinado. "Like I said, sir, I've notified the divisional commanders, I'm sure one of them'll be here very soon, and then…" Pause, while he pulled himself together again. "I've given orders to close the gates, and I've sent out patrols; there's no sign of the enemy in a ten-mile radius of the city. What else should I be…?"
Valens closed his eyes. "If I were you," he said, "I'd leave it at that. Just concentrate on keeping everybody calm and quiet until the army gets here. I'm sure you can manage-every confidence."
He could feel himself sliding away into sleep; no reason why he shouldn't. "The Duchess, sir," Brennus was saying. "Should I–I mean, would you like to see her now?"
Valens opened his eyes and smiled. "No," he said, and went back to sleep.
The next time he opened his eyes, it wasn't thin, pale Captain Brennus.
"Mezentius? Is that you?"
The familiar face of his chief of staff grinned down at him: the point of a hose and two small, pale eyes in a shrubbery of beard. "This is a right mess," he said.
Valens tried to raise himself on one elbow. Not his brightest idea ever. "When did you get here? What time is it?"
"About ten o'clock in the morning, and around midnight," Mezentius replied. "Since when I've been chasing round looking for something to do, apart from inspecting dead bodies. That young Guards captain's done a good job, by the way. I'll have him for the Seventh when you've finished with him."
Valens nodded. "Everything's under control, then."
"In the circumstances." Mezentius was frowning. "I told the Seventh and the Fifth to get here as soon as possible, but we've had patrols out, no sign of any more of them. It's looking like a single raiding party who knew exactly who they were after and where to find them. Which," he added quietly, "is rather more disturbing than a full-scale assault, if you care to look at it that way. You've heard the casualty list?"
Valens nodded. "It hasn't really sunk in," he said. "But the impression I got was, nobody's left except me."
"More or less," Mezentius replied, and the way he said it made Valens wince. "I've talked to all the survivors who're up to answering questions; basically, nobody on our side made a fight of it except you and that weird engineer, the one who looks like some kind of insect."
Valens had forgotten about him. "That's right," he said. "Did he make it?"
"A few cuts and bruises," Mezentius replied. "Twisted ankle. Fought like a maniac, so I gather. Amazing, really. He didn't strike me as the type, the one time I met him."
"Go on," Valens said.
"Well," Mezentius continued, "apparently he came charging up just as one of the bad guys was about to take out Duke Orsea; he jumped up, dragged Orsea off his horse at the last moment, grabbed the lance out of the bad guy's hands and stuck him with it; then Orsea's wife came rushing over, apparently she'd seen Orsea go down; four of them close in on her, but this Daurenja holds them off single-handed, does for two of them-did one of them with his teeth, apparently, bit his throat out like a dog. Then more of them join in, and then you showed up, and you know the rest. No, it sounds like the engineering department pretty well saved the day, one way and another. Oh, and the uncles as well, I expect you've heard about that. The rest of the embassy's kicking up one hell of a fuss, as you'd expect."