The Wisdom of Crowds Read online

  They laughed, and pointed, and Orso acknowledged them with a weary smile. “One humiliation after another,” he murmured, flicking open his napkin, tucking it ever so delicately into his collar, and letting Hildi nudge the little table towards him. She had to slip a dog-eared political pamphlet under a loose leg to stop it wobbling.

  “Thank you, Hildi. Everyone else might have forgotten themselves, but there’s really no need to let one’s own standards slide.”

  “Couldn’t agree more.” Hildi leaned close to whisper, “Managed to get you some of the good bread today.” And she slipped a slice onto his plate.

  “Hildi, you absolute treasure.”

  “Don’t flatter me too much, you owe me two marks for the loaf.”

  “Bloody hell!” Orso had rarely indeed been called upon to spare much thought for the price of things, but that struck even him as steep. “Our tab must be soaring.”

  “Everything’s dear these days.”

  “Especially to kings,” he murmured, forking over that slice of bread and starting to carve it up. Somehow it tasted better if he treated it with the same ceremony as one of Bernille’s wonderful cuts of beef.

  “He should fucking dance for us.”

  Orso couldn’t help glancing up, yet again. A man with a tall hat perched at a ridiculous angle leaned on the railing to leer at him, an overpainted woman giggling as she clung to his elbow.

  “Good one, Shawley!”

  Orso gave that weary smile again. Or at any rate it was still clinging to his face from last time. “A very good one,” he said. “But I only dance with countesses and above, I’m afraid.”

  “We don’t have lords or ladies here no more,” said Shawley.

  “Then unless you’re foreign nobility I fear you’re out of luck.” And Orso raised his glass to them. “Cheers.”

  Some of the onlookers chuckled. Shawley decidedly did not. “We’ll see who’s out of luck, I reckon, in the end.”

  “Step back from the railing,” grunted one of the guards. A man called Halder, blessed with even less sense of humour than the cook. No one seemed to have much sense of humour these days. Or perhaps they were simply no longer obliged to be merry in his presence.

  Shawley looked even more put out. “I’ll move when I’m ready—”

  “You’ll move when I say,” said Halder. One of the other guards pulled out his heavy stick. “Or we’ll move you to the House o’ Truth.”

  Shawley tipped his hat so far, the brim was virtually touching his sneer and slouched away with bad grace, the woman glaring balefully back over her shoulder.

  “Thank you so much for visiting!” called Orso, waving his fork at them. “Watch you don’t catch your cock in the door on your way out!”

  Biting into his meat cured him of any sense of triumph. It was like biting into a boot sole. “I’m a bloody sideshow curiosity,” he murmured as he struggled to chew and retain his teeth at once. “The heir to the throne of Harod the Great, with a clear bloodline from Arnault himself, made into a zoo animal.”

  Hildi was too busy frowning towards the door. “Don’t look up,” she said, which had precisely the opposite effect, of course.

  “Oh, damn,” muttered Orso around a mouthful of carrot with the consistency of firewood. Who should be leading the next batch of gawkers but that noted member of the Assembly of Representatives, Corporal Tunny?

  “He looks prosperous,” grumbled Hildi.

  “Debauchery is profitable under any government,” said Orso, trying and entirely failing to look as if he was relishing his vile meal.

  “Well, well, Your Majesty!” Tunny flashed his yellowed teeth. “It is always a pleasure.”

  “You really didn’t have to visit me at home. We see more than enough of each other in the Assembly.”

  “Must say your quarters look rather humble for a monarch.” Tunny glanced up at a mouldy stain that spread out from one corner of the ceiling. “You should complain to Chairman Risinau.”

  “Ignore him,” said Orso, but Hildi could never stop leaping to his defence. A singularly thankless task these days. She stalked towards the railing, bristling.

  “Your entourage seems diminished.” Tunny peered down at her. “Never could make up my mind whether she was one of your bastards or one of your whores.”

  “Whereas I was always sure you were a cunt!” Hildi went for him, tried to claw at his face, but Tunny caught her arm and they tussled over the barrier. Orso sprang up, making his plate rattle.

  “Step back from the railing,” grunted Halder.

  Tunny shoved Hildi roughly away and she stumbled and fell, cracking her head.

  “You bastard!” snarled Orso, knife and fork clenched as though they were long and short steels.

  Tunny touched his fingers to a red scratch on his grizzled neck and grinned. “What’ll you do? Fork me to death?”

  “I’ll give it a fucking try!”

  “Step back from the railing,” growled Halder. “The lot o’ you. And lower the cutlery.” The guards mostly treated Orso with the put-upon contempt of underpaid nannies supervising a spoiled child. If there had been a fight, he honestly could not have said on whose side they would have intervened.

  “He’s not worth it.” Hildi scrambled up, guiding Orso back towards his chair. “I’m fine.”

  “I always knew he was a bastard, but that bastard.” Orso glowered towards Tunny as he swanned out through the far door. “Betraying me is one thing, everyone’s at it, but taunting you—that bastard. How could I ever have trusted him—”

  Out of sight below the tablecloth, he felt her hand slide into his lap.

  He blinked at her, shocked. “Hildi, I think of you more like a little sister— Oh.”

  There was something in her hand. A scrap of paper. Tunny must have slipped it to her in the scuffle. She gave him a significant glance from under her blonde lashes. “More wine, Your Majesty?”

  “I think I will. And pour a little for yourself as well, eh? We’ve both had quite the shock.”

  As the vinegary vintage slopped into his glass, he hacked away at his chop, plate rattling, and peered down at the note on his leg, pencilled in a bold hand.

  Apologies for the scorn. Apologies for anything said in the Assembly. Apologies to Hildi for the shove. Sorry Hildi! They have to think I am against you.

  I am in touch with Forest. Most of the Crown Prince’s Division stayed loyal, along with the rugged country in the east of Midderland. I also had word from Princess Carlot. Her husband Chancellor Sotorius is ready to help. And Bremer dan Gorst has his steels handy.

  You still have friends, Your Majesty. When the time is right, I will have your standard ready.

  With best wishes,

  (always) Your Friend and Servant, (always) Corporal Tunny

  “By the Fates.” Orso wondered for a moment if it could be some elaborate ruse, but to what end? No. He knew the truth. The notoriously faithless Corporal Tunny was the one truly loyal man in Adua.

  “How the hell could I ever have doubted him?” he whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. Halder was frowning over, and Orso took a long sniff and waved at his plate with his fork.

  “It’s these peas,” he said, in a quavering voice. “They’ve been absolutely murdered.”

  The man gave a snort. Orso would have liked to see him absolutely murdered. And thanks to Corporal Tunny, not to mention Lord Marshal Forest, his sister Carlot and Bremer dan Gorst, it seemed there was the glimmer of a chance that it might happen. Not today, perhaps, and not tomorrow, but the weather was turning cold. Soon enough, people would turn against Risinau. The man had simply promised too much and delivered too little.

  As far as Orso could tell, he was incapable of delivering anything.

  He laid down his cutlery, and carefully tore the note up into strips, and slipped them into his mouth, and chewed with relish. Without doubt, the most enjoyable part of the meal.

  “Good news,” murmured Hildi, under her breath.


  “Very good news,” said Orso, around his papery mouthful, and he chinked his glass against hers.

  He was not rescued and the world was not set to rights. Not by any means. But he could see a path to it. He was not alone. He was not forgotten.

  And he remembered how it felt, to have hope.

  Different This Time

  Leo sat, fussing at a loose thread in the sleeve on his useless arm. A year ago, he would’ve been pacing up and down. But pacing was another thing that wasn’t worth the pain these days.

  “Are you sure about this house?” he grumbled. A fire crackled in the grate, and it was warm and welcoming, and Savine would never have permitted a detail that wasn’t in the best taste, but you couldn’t have called it a grand room.

  “If I was not sure we would not be here. It sends the right message.”

  “That we’re of no account?”

  “That we are humble, responsible Citizens who have put the excess of the past behind us and accepted that we are all equal.”

  Leo snorted. “Have you seen that bloody palace Selest dan Heugen’s having built? Or that town house of Isher’s? There are plenty of people still living well.”

  “They may come to regret it,” said Savine. “How things look used to be the difference between success and failure. In these times it might be the difference between life and death.”

  Leo frowned at that painting of his grandfather, Lord Marshal Kroy, cramped now under a far lower ceiling. “You always loved fine things.” Meaning he’d realised now they were gone how much he’d liked them.

  “I loved fine things when they said the right things about me. Fine things say the wrong thing now. And we are that much closer to the Agriont. It’s a shorter trip to the Assembly.”

  He knew he should’ve been grateful. Instead, he felt faintly nettled. “I can walk.”

  “I know. But it hurts you. Why walk further than you have to?”

  “To prove that I can,” he grunted, gripping the handle of his crutch.

  She floated over his annoyance, as usual, which, as usual, only annoyed him more. “In any case, the other house is filled.”

  “Tenants?”

  “Children.”

  “What?”

  “Have you seen how many of them are homeless in the city?” Honestly, he hadn’t. He spent all his time out of doors focused on staying upright. “Gangs of them. Orphaned, abandoned, lacking the most basic necessities. Forced to prey upon each other, to thieve, to sell themselves. Children starving on our streets.”

  Leo frowned over at her. She’d shed her shapeless nursing clothes now and, despite a lack of jewels, looked mostly her sleek, sharp, ruthless old self. But then she’d serve up something like this. “So… the Darling of the Slums has opened an orphanage?”

  Now she looked nettled. As if she hated thinking of herself as a philanthropist as much as he hated thinking of himself as a cripple. “They just need a chance. And we can give them one.”

  “Or at least appear to.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, I suppose you’re right.”

  “I usually am,” she said, which was where these conversations generally ended up.

  The chair seemed to buzz under him and a moment later there was a throbbing boom, ornaments rattling on the mantle. They’d made pathetic progress at demolishing the Agriont’s mighty walls with hammer and pick, so the Assembly had voted to move into the modern age and try blowing them up with Gurkish Fire. Gravel was routinely raining out of the sky for streets around as a result.

  “Fucking idiots,” he snarled at the window, grinding his crutch into the carpet.

  He felt Savine’s hand on his shoulder. That calming touch, just the fingertips. “All you need to do is apologise.”

  “I’m no bloody good at apologies,” wanting to shake her hand off but somehow wanting it to stay both at once.

  “Apologise badly, then.”

  “Why should I be the one saying sorry?” Though he knew exactly why.

  “Because we need him.” Which was exactly why. “And you were a fool to push him away in the first place. If it helps, tell yourself you’re not apologising for what you did, but for being a fool.”

  “I’m not sure that does help.”

  “Be charming. You can be charming, when you want to be. You charmed me.”

  “Really? The way I remember it, you seduced me, fell pregnant, then talked me into a match.”

  A hint of an exasperated sigh, and Savine took her hand away. “Talk him into a match, then.”

  That felt like a dangerous choice of words somehow. Out in the hall, Leo heard an echoing knock on the door, felt an absurd surge of nerves. “Help me up.”

  Savine dragged him out of his chair, none too gently, and he winced as he put his weight on his iron leg. He was right, he could walk. And she was right, it hurt.

  “I will be in the next room,” said Savine. “If you get into difficulty.”

  “What can you do?”

  “I’ll think of something.” And she shut the door behind her, leaving him alone.

  Leo stood, stump throbbing, blood thumping in his head. He could hear voices in the hall.

  He wondered what pose to strike, but when you’ve only one leg, and that’s a poor one, and one arm, and that has to grip a crutch, you haven’t many options. So when the door clattered open and Haroon showed in Leo’s oldest friend, he was still standing lopsided in the middle of the carpet with a quivery smile on his face.

  “Jurand!”

  Leo hadn’t been ready for the rush of feeling. He could hardly breathe for it. He’d been stuck for months among traitors, thugs and cowards, and the sight of that familiar, trustworthy face, as handsome as ever, was like a lamp in a pitch-black room. It felt as if a part of him that died at Stoffenbeck—the best part of him, even—came suddenly to life again.

  What he wanted to do more than anything was lurch into Jurand’s arms and never let go of him. He was poised to do it. Then he saw the shock on his friend’s face. His wide eyes flickered over the scars, the useless arm, the iron leg, and it dropped on Leo with the weight of the Agriont’s falling walls how ruined he was since the last time they saw each other. How broken and disfigured. How utterly crippled.

  Leo turned away. Might’ve hidden his scarred face behind his left hand, if he could’ve pulled it from his jacket without help.

  His words crept out in a nervous croak. “I can’t tell you… how glad I am you’re here—”

  The shock had passed and Jurand’s jaw was angrily set. “I’m here because Lady Finree ordered me to come. Not because you asked me.”

  That sank into the silence between them. Leo swallowed. Not long ago his pride would’ve made him stomp from the room. But his pride must’ve been in his leg, as it hardly seemed to bother him these days. “How is she?”

  “Worried. Desperately worried, about you, but she doesn’t let it show. She has to put Angland back together. I don’t know what would have happened without her. She’s a great leader.”

  Leo flinched. “Far better than her son.”

  “You’d have a hard time arguing otherwise.”

  He knew he couldn’t deny it. Being in his mother’s shadow used to feel unbearable. Now he saw how lucky he’d been to have her. He took a hard breath and drew himself up. “I’m sorry, Jurand. I’m… I’m very sorry. For the way it all turned out. If you’d been with me, at Stoffenbeck, things would’ve been… well.” He frowned down at his leg. At his crutch. “I was a fool.”

  Jurand didn’t break out the long-suffering smile he always used to find at Leo’s latest recklessness. The only hint of warmth in his face were the spots of colour from the heat of the fire after the chill outside.

  “You’re right for once,” he snapped. “You were a fool. A selfish fool, and one hell of a poor friend.” Leo blinked. He’d known he needed to apologise. He’d never supposed Jurand might not accept it. “I always thought you knew, deep down. Honestly, I always th
ought…” He trailed off, hands opening and closing, frowning hard at the floor.

  Leo’s mouth was very dry. “Thought what?”

  “Who cares what I thought. I’m as big a fool as you are, in my own way.”

  Leo took an awkward step towards him, his metal ankle squeaking. Wanted to reach out, comfort him, but he didn’t have the limbs for it. “You’re about the cleverest man I know—”

  “At least my stupidity didn’t get anyone killed.” Now Jurand looked up again, and so bitterly Leo had to take that awkward step back. “Remember when there were seven of us?”

  Leo was left frozen, his mouth slightly open. It was a long time since he’d thought of the happy brotherhood who’d gone to war with him. Risked their lives for him. Most of his energy went into finding ways to do what used to be easy, the rest into twisting the future into a shape he could live with.

  “Ritter,” said Jurand, “Barniva, Jin, Antaup, Glaward, me and you.”

  Each name was like a slap. Leo took another wobbling step back, and his stump twisted in the socket of his false leg, and the stab of pain made his knee buckle. His crutch clattered down, but he caught the arm of a chair, managed to sag into it.

  “They chose to fight,” he whispered.

  “They chose to follow you, and you led them to their deaths.”

  “I miss them,” said Leo. “I miss them like my leg and my arm.” He missed them almost as much as he’d missed Jurand. Now that he thought about them. “But I can’t bring them back… any more than you can take back what you did… in Sipani.”

  And that familiar image came up, of Jurand and Glaward, pressed against each other, half-naked on their knees, and Leo winced at the rush of painful excitement that always came with it, worse than ever with his old friend right in front of him.