How to Rule an Empire and Get Away with It (The Siege, #2)

by K.J. Parker

Actually, there’s a remarkable paradox here. Nobody in his right mind would pay good money to see me, when I’m out of character. And nearly everybody in the City would pay very good money for a guarantee that the First Minister or the Leader of the Opposition would never been seen or heard of again. But when it’s me pretending to be the First Minister or the Leader of the Opposition – well, there aren’t exactly queues stretching down the street, but a steady trickle each night, enough to pay the rent and a very modest profit. Make of that what you can. I regard it as rather more curious than interesting.

The unfortunate consequences to me personally probably never crossed their minds; which makes it worse somehow, in my opinion.

we’d made it illegal for a skilled man to leave the City, but that was a bit like punishing a man for committing suicide: once he’s done it, what can you do to him?

It slowly dawned on me that it’s possible for the wise men who run your life for you to see disaster coming and not have a plan for dealing with it; because they know what needs to be done but there are vested interests in the way, or they can’t figure out the politics, or they think it’ll be horrendously unpopular, or it’ll cost too much money, a commodity you can’t take with you if you get your throat cut by the enemy but never mind about that – it’s possible to build a beautiful house on the lip of an active volcano, with all the hot water you could ever want, and restructure your mind so you don’t actually think about what you’re doing, or what will inevitably happen.

I held up my hands. “I didn’t do anything.” “We believe you,” Nicephorus said, making believe sound like a dialect word for forgive. “And don’t do it again.”

Aelians are milkfaces, but a different sort to Ogus and his lot; and we’ve tried to push them around in the past, but every time we sent an army or a fleet they wiped the floor with us, so they bear us no ill will.

There was once a king in a far-off land who said, when you have them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.

“Half the emperors on the list started off as infantry privates, worked their way up through the ranks, staged a coup. That’s the wonderful thing about the empire, anybody at all can be emperor. Not a senator or a commissioner or a priest, or even a doctor or head of department in the civil service. But emperor, hell yes, why not? It’s one of the things I love about our great country.”

I really don’t like the feeling of going to bed (or in this case, chair) not knowing whether the world will still be there in the morning.

2020

I was twelve years old, reckoned I was a grown man, like you do at that age if you’re stupid.

And the emperor is mostly preoccupied with ceremony and protocol, except when there’s a crisis, of course.” “And then?” “We advise him of his options and carry out his instructions.” I nodded. “The siege is a crisis.” “Of course.” “So you’ll do what I tell you.” “Naturally,” he said, face of stone, “in all matters pertaining to the crisis. As to ordinary everyday administration, we wouldn’t dream of bothering you with trivia.”

(The world is full of idiots, and always has been. But sometimes I wonder why such a disproportionate quantity of them end up running other people’s lives.)

Knowing something can be done is a great incentive to figuring out how, I guess;

Kill several million, and inevitably you’re a monster. But if you restrict yourself to a relatively modest number, say one or two per cent of the population, fifty thousand people at the absolute maximum, you’re a statesman and a hero and the father of your country.

I think of you as a goddess.” “Oh, come on.” “I do,” I said, “really. Spiteful, selfish, utterly self-centred, addicted to worship, callous, unfeeling and incapable of loving anyone but yourself.