Devices and Desires by K. J. Parker Page B

assumed they were after me.”
    Orsea looked at him. “Really.”
    The man nodded. “I thought it was a bit over the top myself,” he said. “But we take renegades very seriously. I assumed —”
    “Sorry to disappoint you,” Miel interrupted. “But your army out there’s been fighting us.”
    “Oh, right.” The man frowned. “Who won?”
    “You did.”
    “I’m sorry.” Now he looked more bewildered than ever. “Excuse me, but who are you?”
    “The Grand Army of Eremia, what’s left of it,” Orsea replied. “So, if you’re not a soldier or a spy, and you didn’t know about
     the war, why were you following the army?”
    “I reckoned they must have water,” he said. “Or at least they’d lead me to a river or something. I’ve only been following
     them for a day. I tried to steal some food, but the sentries spotted me and I had to run. When I stopped running, I realized
     I was lost. Then I saw your lot, and thought I’d try my luck. Nothing to lose. It was that or lie down and die somewhere.
     Just my luck I had to run into a war.”
    Brief silence; then Miel said, “If he’s lying, he’s very good at it.”
    “I’m not, I’m telling the truth.”
    “Cocky with it,” Orsea said. “So, you’re an escaped convict. What did you do?”
    “It’s a long story.”
    “Indulge me.”
    The man looked at him. “I killed a couple of prison warders,” he said. “And maybe the secretary of the tribunal, I’m not sure.”
    Miel leaned over the man’s shoulder. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be a spy?” he said. “I don’t know what they tell you
     about us in the City, but murder’s against the law out here, too.”
    “Leave him alone, Miel, this is interesting. So,” Orsea went on, “if you killed a couple of warders, you were in prison already,
     yes?”
    The man nodded. “I’d just been tried. But I got away and the warders caught me.”
    “So you’d done something else before you killed the warders?” “Yes.” The man hesitated.
    “What?”
    “It’s complicated.”
    Orsea raised an eyebrow. Whatever it was, this strange, scruffy man seemed to think it was worse than killing prison officers;
     he was afraid to say what it was. “I’m game if you are,” he said.
    The man took a deep breath. “I was charged with mechanical innovation,” he said. “It’s very serious, in the City.”
    “Worse than killing people?”
    “I suppose so.”
    “Were you guilty?”
    The man nodded. “Apparently,” he said.
    Miel stood up. “Now can we hang him?” he said. “I mean, he’s just confessed to murder.”
    Orsea frowned. “You still reckon he’s a spy?”
    “To be honest, I don’t care much.” Miel yawned. “What it boils down to is we can’t very well let him go if he’s really a convicted
     murderer, and I really can’t be bothered making the arrangements to send him back. Also, he’s seen the Butter Pass, and maybe
     he’s thinking he could do a deal for the information. Either that, or I’m right and he’s a spy. No offense, Orsea, but he’s
     running out of play value. Let’s pull his neck and get on with what we’re supposed to be doing.”
    That didn’t sound much like Miel, Orsea thought; so this must be a ploy to get the prisoner scared and make him confess. On
     the other hand, the poor devil was unquestionably a Mezentine; lynching one would probably do wonders for the army’s morale.
     Maybe that was why Miel was making such uncharacteristically brutal noises.
    He made up his mind, suddenly, without being aware of having thought it through. If Miel was reminding him of his duty toward
     the army and the country, fine; he still wasn’t prepared to string up someone who looked so unspeakably sad. In spite of the
     battle and the iron pins from the sky and his own unforgivable mistakes, Orsea still had faith in the world; he believed it
     might still be possible to make it work, somehow or other. The Mezentine, on the other hand, clearly