Devices and Desires Read Online Free PDF Page A

nervous and strained. “He passed out from the pain a few minutes ago. I don’t
     know if he’ll wake up again.”
    Valens closed his eyes for a moment. “What’s the damage?” he said.
    The doctor came a little closer. “For a start,” he said, “broken skull, collarbone, three ribs, left forearm; but that’s not
     the real problem. He’s bleeding heavily, inside, and he’s paralyzed, from the neck down. There’s several possible causes for
     that, but I don’t yet know which it is.”
    “You don’t know?” Valens repeated.
    “I’m sorry.” The doctor was afraid, that was it. Understandable; but it would only get in the way. “Until I can do a proper
     examination…”
    “I understand,” Valens said. “And I know you’re doing everything you can. Meanwhile, we need your help.” He turned to look
     at the Chancellor. “Does he know what he’s got to do?”
    The Chancellor dipped his head slightly. “They all do,” he said.
    “Right.” Valens looked away from the body on the table. “Then let’s get on with it.”
    In the event, there was no trouble at all. Count Licinius was in bed when a platoon of his own Guards brought him the letter
     and escorted him, gently but firmly, to a guest-room in the castle; it was perfectly pleasant, but it was on the sixth floor
     of the tower, and two men stood guard outside it all night. Vetranio made a bit of a fuss when the Guards came for him at
     his villa on the outskirts of the city. He had guards of his own, and there was an ugly moment when they started to intervene.
     A sword was drawn, there was a minor scuffle; Vetranio lost his nerve and came quietly, ending up in the room next to Licinius,
     though neither of them knew it until they were released a week later. By then, the doctors were pleased to be able to announce
     that the Duke had come through the dangerous phase of his injuries and was conscious again.
    For Valens, that week was the longest of his life. Once Licinius and Vetranio were safely locked up and everything was quiet,
     he forced himself to go back down to the courtyard and into the tent. He freely admitted to himself that he didn’t want to
     go. He had no wish to look at the horrible thing his father had turned into, the disgusting shambles of broken and damaged
     parts — if it was a cart or a plow, you wouldn’t bother trying to mend it, you’d dump it in the hedge and build a new one.
    There were many times during his vigil in the tent when he wished his father would die and be done with it. It’d be better
     for everyone, now that the political situation had been sorted out. He knew, as he sat and stared at his father’s closed eyes,
     that the Duke didn’t want to live; somewhere, deep down in his mind, he’d know what had happened to him, the extent of the
     damage. He’d never hunt again, never walk, never stand up, feed himself; for the rest of his life, he’d shit into a nappy,
     like a baby. He’d fought more than his share of wars, seen the terror in the eyes of men he’d reduced to nothing as they knelt
     before him; he’d far rather die than give them this satisfaction. In fact, Valens recognized, he could think of only one person
     in the world who wanted him not to die, and his reasons were just sentiment, nothing that would survive the brutal interrogation
     of logic. At some point in the first twenty-four hours he’d fallen asleep in his chair; he’d had a dream, in which he saw
     Death standing over the table, asking his permission to take his father’s life away, like clearing away the dishes after dinner.
     It seemed such a reasonable request, and refusing it was a foolish, immature thing to do. You know I’m right, Death’s voice
     said softly inside his head, it’s the right thing to do and you’re being a nuisance. He’d felt guilty when he ordered Death
     to go away, ashamed of his own petulance; and meanwhile, outside the door, he could hear Licinius and Vetranio and Torquatus
     and