Chapter 12 #6
“Pity,” he said. “There were all manner of rare and fascinating treasures, but they were all destroyed in the fire. Still, omelettes and eggs.”
He was about my age, a bit taller and broader than me, and when my shadow fell on him he produced a length of chain from his sleeve and started wrapping it round his right fist. “Just a precaution,” he assured me.
“My boss made a great point of telling me how dangerous you are, and at the first sign of trouble I’m to hit first and rationalise afterwards. He’s a bit of an old woman, my boss.”
“I mean you no harm,” I said. “What happened to the man who ran the shop?”
“Inside when the fire started,” he replied. “Nothing anyone could do. It turns out that some fool had nailed the doors and windows shut, from the outside.” He shook his head. “Health and safety nightmare, these old timber-frames. They ought to tear them all down and rebuild.”
I sat down next to him, in the ashes. “Who are you?” I said.
“Nice try.” He smiled indulgently. “I imagine what you mean is, which am I, provo or doxy? To which the answer would have to be, ‘Yes’.” He unwrapped the chain and put it away.
“Speaking purely for myself, I think all these divisions are purely arbitrary, and it’s high time we put them behind us and started acting like grown-ups. ”
“Purely arbitrary,” I said.
That made him grin. “Let me guess,” he said, “I took the words right out of your mouth. Thought so; they’re all warm and spitty.
Yes, purely arbitrary, the whole nine yards.
The way I see it, we all work for the Man; our lot, the other lot, the two warring halves of our lot, the numerous conflicting factions of the other lot, and the dumb thing is, we all basically want the same thing.
The Kingdom. The promised end. But unfortunately, there’s Saloninus’ stupid old fifth law. You know about that?”
I nodded.
“Course you do, a smart man like you. There’s got to be an opposition, or none of it actually works.” He frowned. “My boss says you’re an atheist. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Good heavens. How on earth did you arrive at that conclusion?”
I thought before answering. It was a good question, worth taking a bit of trouble over. “Intuition, mostly, I guess,” I said. “I just know there’s nothing there.”
“You believe.”
I nodded. “But just lately,” I went on, “I’ve been able to back it up with a bit of hard evidence.”
“Good for you. Such as?”
I took a deep breath. “Let’s suppose,” I said. “Let’s suppose there’s such a thing as the long game.”
He frowned. “Go on,” he said.
“Because of the complexity and adaptability of the long game,” I said, “actions contributing to the benefit of Evil can be Good, and vice versa. Therefore Good and Evil are essentially interchangeable. A Good act can further Evil’s ends.
An Evil act may be necessary for Good. And since the plan’s constantly changing and evolving, there’s no way of knowing whether any given act is Good or Evil, since no act is Good or Evil per se.
Since the plan keeps changing, what was Good yesterday may easily be Evil tomorrow, and so on.
Since the plan is going to keep on changing for ever and ever, world without end, nothing can ever be intrinsically Good or Evil. How am I doing?”
“I like the word intrinsically,” he said. “Or you could use inherently. Same difference.”
“So,” I went on, “there is no Good or Evil. There’s only sides: the side I’m on; the side you’re on. The side of the side you’re on. Each of us wants his side to win. Good and Evil are just the stones we throw. In fact, they’re meaningless. As meaningless as a random chunk of rock—”
“Washed up on a beach on a far-away country of which we know little. Yup, let’s drag that in too, while we’re at it.” He was grinning again. “I think I like you,” he said. “Now I bet you that’s not something you hear very often.”
“Let’s suppose,” I said, “that there is no Good. There’s just two factions of Evil perennially at each other’s throats under the misapprehension that there is a Good God, and through their ignorance, mutual antipathy, inefficiency and plain stupidity, Good prevails as often as not.
Saloninus’ razor,” I added. He shook his head.
“No, actually,” he said. “It’s more Saloninus’ sixth law.”
“Sixth—”
“Yup. Saloninus’ sixth law: never attribute to malice anything that can be explained by incompetence. Probably my favourite out of the whole nineteen.”
I felt my jaw drop. Just when you think you’ve heard it all.
“You’re wrong, of course,” he went on. “There is an Invincible Sun – there He is, look,” he added, pointing up at the sky, which happened to be cloudy.
“And He is the Good principle, and He will inevitably prevail, which is exactly how it should be. But in the meantime we’ve got the long game.
And you’re right, a lot of it’s about sides.
Actually, let’s make that sub-sides, since we’re all on the same side really, except for the Public.
You know, the man in the street, the little people, the ones whose hearts and minds we do all this shit for.
” He paused. “Are you going to hit me now?”
“No,” I said. “I probably ought to, but you’re bigger than me.”
“Sensible,” he replied gravely. “And yes, you’re right, a certain degree of arrogance and contempt goes with the territory. But you can despise someone and love them at the same time. You should know that, better than anyone.”
“Excuse me?”
He rolled his eyes. “Monks,” he said. “No more idea than my old mother’s cat. All right, I’ll say it again, and you can make of it what you will. You can despise someone and love them at the same time. Now, think of someone who despises you.”
“No, thank you.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said. “It was supposed to be your going-home present, but it’s no skin off my nose if you don’t choose to accept it.
So,” he said, standing up, “you might as well have this instead.” He threw the book he’d been reading at me.
It hit me in the mouth. I overbalanced and fell over. “So long,” he said. “See you around.”
“Oh, I hope not.”
He grinned enormously. “Tough,” he said. “I’ve been assigned to you. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other in future. I’m Sigurthus, by the way. Actually, I’m your second cousin twice removed, from Jarlsness, in the Mesoge. Small world, isn’t it?”
My lip was starting to swell where the book had hit me. “Too small,” I said, “for the both of us.”
“Ah well. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance.” He held out his hand. “You’re all right.”
I didn’t take his hand. He withdrew it. “Now go away,” he said. “Go and buy your girl dinner or something.”
I went back to the inn. She was asleep and I didn’t want to wake her, so I looked at the book Sigurthus had thrown at me. Saloninus’ Mechanics.