Memory

Chapter Seventeen

'Beal?' Noja shrugged. 'It's a nice enough place, I guess. Lots of big villas, for rich city types who like to play at being country gentry without getting mud on their trousers. Plenty of open space, all gardens, not a cow in sight. They cut more grass there mowing lawns than all the haymakers in the Bohec valley.'

Poldarn nodded vaguely. He hadn't asked out of genuine interest. 'How much further?'

'An hour maybe, two if there's traffic on the road. Lots of people come for the honey festival.'

The coach was running smoothly over a good road that was fringed with squared-off hedges. No potholes or ruts here; they'd all been painstakingly filled in with river gravel. 'Fine,' he said. 'So we arrive in Beal, where Tazencius is staying. I take it we don't just cruise round knocking on doors till someone tells us where he is.'

She pulled a face. 'Don't need to, we know exactly where he'll be. That's not the problem.'

Poldarn nodded. 'Getting in to see him.'

'Yes and no.' Noja looked tired; probably hadn't slept much. 'Needless to say, there'll be enough guards around to garrison a city. However, that's all right, because Cleapho's arranged for someone to let us in at the side door and take us right through to the inner courtyard, where the guards will let us through. That's where I'll be saying goodbye,' she added, 'because from there on, you'll be on your own. Even Cleapho can't get you past the household guards, and it's more than his life is worth to try. You get an open door-to walk through, and that's it. Also,' she went on, 'if you're hoping for a map or a briefing on the layout of the rooms, no dice. Cleapho's never been in there, which ought to give you some idea of the security around Tazencius. I hope you know about all that sort of thing.'

Poldarn shook his head. 'I'm a great believer in fool's luck,' he said.

She smiled. 'I heard someone say once that luck is like a door: you push it, and you get to where you want to be. Nonsense in my opinion, but I thought it might cheer you up. Hello,' she said, 'why're we slowing down?'

The coachman turned back and said something about a roadblock. Noja's expression changed.

'Not good,' she said. 'Roadblocks are only when there's someone particularly dangerous on the loose.'

'I'm flattered,' Poldarn said. He had the sword he'd helped himself to the previous evening, but he really didn't want to get into a fight: it'd spoil everything.

The coach stopped, and a moment or so later a soldier walked up and peered in through the vehicle's window. 'Sorry,' he said, 'but you've got to go back.'

Poldarn stayed where he was. Noja leaned across him and said, 'What do you mean? We're going to the honey festival.'

'Cancelled.' The soldier looked grave. 'Sorry, but it's a routine precaution. Quarantine.'

Noja looked as though she didn't know what the word meant. 'What?'

'There's been an outbreak of plague,' the soldier said, 'in Tulice. It's all right,' he went on, 'nobody's saying anything about it having reached this side of the Bay, and all shipping's been stopped, roads in and out of there all sealed, and they're looking for anybody who's known to have arrived from there in the last month. Also, all large public gatherings have been cancelled, and they'll be closing the city gates at midnight tonight; nobody in or out until the risk of infection's over. Apparently it's a nasty strain of plague, but quick; if we can keep it out for a week, we'll be safe. That's it, basically.'

'Wonderful,' Noja said, with a slight wobble in her voice, which the soldier would've put down to fear of the plague. 'So what're we supposed to do?'

'You're from the city, right? Well, best possible thing to do is go straight back there.'

'What, and get stuck there when the plague starts? Not likely.'

The soldier shook his head. 'Safest place in the Empire, it'll be; that's why they're closing it off. You'll be far more at risk if you stay outside.'

There wasn't any point in arguing; the only way through the roadblock was over the dead body of the soldier and the rest of his outfit, and there wouldn't be any point in going to that extreme, since Tazencius obviously wasn't going to be at Beal anyway. Noja pursed her lips, putting on a scornful expression that reminded Poldarn of Copis. 'Wonderful,' she repeated. 'So we're going to be locked up in the city for a week. You know how many ships dock at Torcea every day?'

The soldier sighed. Clearly he was under orders to be polite to anybody in a posh carriage, and he didn't like it. 'Like I said,' he replied, 'Torcea's the safest place in the Empire right now. Like, if there was even the slightest danger, would the Emperor be headed there right now?'

'Ah.' Noja smiled at him. 'That puts a different complexion on it. If it's safe enough for the Emperor, it must be all right.'

The soldier seemed relieved, if confused, at her reaction. 'Exactly,' he said. 'So, if you wouldn't mind moving on; it's just that you're blocking the road.'

Back the way they'd so recently come. 'Did you believe any of that?' Poldarn asked.

She shook her head. 'Too convenient,' she replied. 'There hasn't been plague in the Empire for a hundred years. And starting in Tulice, too. No, someone's worried about something. It's a good excuse for them to close the roads, tell people what to do and have them do it; and really helpful for tracking down new arrivals from Tulice, don't forget. They've never had plague in Tulice, as far as I know; it only starts in hot, dry countries and cities, and Tulice is cold, wet and rural.' She sighed again. 'Someone's heard something, and they're looking for you.'

Poldarn nodded. 'That'd make sense, I suppose,' he said. 'And it sounds like Cleapho may have been found out. If they know about me, they may know about him too.'

'I hadn't thought of that,' Noja said quietly. 'Maybe we shouldn't go back to town, then.'

Poldarn shook his head. 'That's where Tazencius is, according to that man,' he replied, 'and there's no reason to think he was lying about that. Only question is, can we make it back to Torcea before they close the gates?'

'Just about,' she replied.

'Just about' was right; they arrived as the gates were closing, after a terrifying gallop in the dark that left Poldarn feeling sick and profoundly unhappy, although Noja didn't seem unduly troubled. But she was nearly frantic at the thought of being marooned out in the country for a week with only the money she'd brought with her-hardly enough, Poldarn reckoned, to buy a small farm and a flock of sheep.

'You can't come in,' the gatekeeper told her. 'Quarantine. Sorry.'

'Fuck you,' Noja replied. It was the wrong approach; the gate slammed, and a bolt rasped in its rings. Noja stood staring for quite a long time before Poldarn could snap her out of it.

'Did you see that?' she whispered, awestruck. 'He just shut the gates in our faces.'

'You shouldn't have sworn at him,' Poldarn said.

'Fuck you, too.'

Poldarn smiled, though it was too dark for her to see. 'We'll just have to find another way in,' he said.

'Another way in? Are you out of your mind, or just ignorant? This is Torcea: the walls are twenty feet high and ten feet thick. Your friends from the foundry and the Poldarn's Flutes couldn't get us in there.'

'I wasn't thinking of digging a tunnel,' Poldarn replied mildly. 'I was thinking more of getting arrested.'

'Getting-what did you say?' But he'd already walked away, looking for something. In the dark, this took him a little while, but eventually he came back to where Noja was standing, holding something heavy in both hands. 'What've you got there?' she said irritably.

'A large rock,' Poldarn replied, as if it was something no well-dressed man would leave home without. 'I think it's some kind of milestone or boundary marker; took a lot of pushing and shoving to get it out of the ground. Could be a gravestone, but who buries people next to the road?'

'What do you want with a-?' He answered her question by swinging the rock with all his strength at the wicket door in the gate. 'You're crazy,' she said. 'You can't break that down. It's bloody great thick oak planks.'

'I don't need to,' Poldarn grunted, and bashed the door again. Half a dozen bashes later, the door swung inwards, and four soldiers burst out in a blaze of yellow light. 'See you later,' Poldarn called back, as they grabbed him and dragged him inside.

They weren't pleased, particularly when he admitted he'd only been bashing on the gate because he'd missed the curfew and wanted to get inside; they clearly felt he'd abused their good nature by forcing them to arrest him. 'It's a night in the cells for you,' they growled.

Poldarn smiled. 'Fine,' he said.

'Then you can explain yourself to the magistrate in the morning.'

Poldarn shrugged. 'Whatever,' he replied. 'Beats dying of plague, anyway.'

Two crows sitting in a tall thin tree-The song, still there, like an arrowhead that has to be left in the wound because getting it out would be too dangerous. But this didn't look like the sort of place where he could reasonably expect to find lost lines from old songs, so he looked about him instead.

At first, he thought he was alone in the cell; but, as his eyes grew accustomed to the faint light of the oil lamp that they'd been kind enough to leave behind, he saw that there was someone else in there with him, a small bundle sitting in the corner, looking sad. He assumed it was asleep, but it spoke.

'Who's there?' A woman's voice, elderly; an aunt, or the little old lady who lives on her own and keeps cats. Poldarn recognised her at once.

'You again,' he said. 'I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.'

She sighed. 'I did try,' she said. 'And it was all going so well. I found a very nice man who said he'd take me across the Bay, for a very reasonable fare; but it turned out he wasn't going to Torcea after all, he was going to some little place down the coast to deliver his cargo. But that was all right, because I still had most of the money you were kind enough to give me, and I got a seat on a carrier's cart, but it lost a wheel out in the middle of nowhere. But then a very kind man gave me a lift on his wagon, but he could only go terribly slowly-'

'All right,' Poldarn muttered. 'How did you end up in prison?'

She shook her head. 'I have no idea,' she replied. 'I arrived yesterday afternoon, and a nice young man at the gate asked me where I'd just come from, so I told him; and when I said I'd come from Tulice he told me to wait, and he went away and came back with soldiers, who brought me here. And I've been here for hours, and nobody's told me what's going on, and they've taken my babies-'

She sounded horribly upset. Babies, Poldarn thought; oh, God, yes, her little wicker cage full of mice. 'It's all right,' he said. 'We'll get you out of here in no time. Have you still got that badge I gave you?'

'Badge?' She looked at him.

'Yes, don't you remember? I gave you a badge. It's special. It was given to me by an army commander. We used it to get you out of trouble in Falcata.' A nasty thought struck him. 'You have still got it, haven't you?'

She gave him a worried frown. 'I'm very sorry,' she said, 'I don't know what you're talking about. I'm afraid my memory-'

Poldarn jumped up and grabbed her by the collar. The badge was hidden by a fold of dirty cloth.

'This,' he said, not bothering to keep the relief out of his voice. 'Thank God for that, you've got us both out of trouble. This is exactly what I need.'

'Really?' She beamed at him. 'Is it important?'

'Very.' He grinned. 'It's an army thing, a safe-conduct token. Show this to the officer in charge, he's under orders to help us any way he can. It's more than important,' he added pensively, 'it's practically a miracle.' He looked at her; she blinked and looked back, still beaming.

'Does it mean they'll give me back my babies?' she asked hopefully.

Oh for pity's sake, Poldarn thought. 'I imagine so,' he said. 'Let's find out, shall we?'

They clearly valued their doors in Beal; shouting and yelling had no effect, but kicking the door energetically brought the guard running. 'Fetch your sergeant,' Poldarn said. 'Quick.'

'Piss off,' said the guard.

'Fine,' Poldarn said, and he kicked the door as hard as he could. Something cracked; he hoped it wasn't a bone in his foot.

'Oh, for crying out loud,' the guard wailed; and a few minutes later, he was back with a short, round-faced sergeant. Poldarn held the badge up in front of the sliding panel in the door; he heard the sergeant swear under his breath, and then bolts shooting back.

'I'm really sorry,' the sergeant was saying, 'we had no idea. If only you'd said sooner-'

'Forget it,' Poldarn said pleasantly. 'Memory's overrated anyhow. Look, this lady had a cage with some mice or something. Where's it got to?'

The sergeant looked blank. 'How should I-?' He caught sight of the look on Poldarn's face. 'I'll find out,' he said quickly. 'Acca, take these-take them up the guardroom and get them some food. And some water to wash in. I'll just go and find out about the mice.'

When the sergeant showed up half an hour later with the cage, and various scratching and scuttling noises from inside it confirmed that its contents were still profoundly alive, the delight on the old woman's face was a wonderful thing to see. Poldarn told the guards to make sure she ate something, and that she got to wherever she wanted to go. Then, on an impulse, he handed over Muno Silsny's incredibly valuable ring to her. After all, he told himself, he was taking back the safe-passage badge, so he ought to give her something in return. Besides, one way or another he wouldn't be needing it himself. 'Take it to a jeweller's in a good part of town,' he told her, 'and whatever they offer you for it first, don't settle for less than twice that. All right?'

She was beaming at him. 'That's so kind of you,' she said. 'Of course, as soon as I find my son, I'll make sure he pays you back every quarter.' A terrible thought seemed to strike her. 'But how will we find you? You do seem to travel about such a lot-'

'Don't worry,' he said, 'it's all right. It was an unwanted gift, it doesn't matter. And you,' he added, turning on the sergeant, 'you make absolutely sure she gets to where she wants to go, understood? Because I'll find out, and if she hasn't-'

The sergeant promised faithfully, terror gleaming behind his eyes. Poldarn nodded. 'That's fine, then,' he said. 'Off you go, and remember, I'll be checking up.'

The sergeant bustled away, escorting the mad woman as though she was fragile royalty. As soon as they'd gone, Poldarn turned to the guard, and grinned.

'Right,' he said. 'Now, I want to see the Emperor.'

For a moment or so, he was almost ready to believe it was going to work. But then the soldier seemed to shake himself awake, and gawped at him.

'Sorry,' he said, 'but I can't. I mean, it's not allowed.'

'Bullshit,' Poldarn said. 'You saw the safe-conduct pass. Want me to show you again?'

'No, that's fine,' the guard said quickly. 'But I still can't. You need sealed orders. Only the captain of the watch-'

'Then let's find him, shall we?' Poldarn said impatiently; and off they went, down passageways, up stairs, down stairs, up passageways, with the guard leading the way and struggling to keep up, both at the same time. After a long march they crossed a courtyard: more stairs, more passages, another courtyard. 'We're here,' the guard announced, coming to a sudden halt outside a small oak door.

No question but that the watch captain recognised the badge and understood its significance; but, as he explained, it wasn't as simple as that. Yes, he could give the necessary orders for Poldarn to be escorted to the City Prefect's office, but the Prefect himself had to authorise admission to the Emperor's private apartments; and no disrespect, but did Poldarn realise exactly what an important man the Prefect was? He could be at a council meeting, or out to dinner, or-They went to the Prefecture. The Prefect was in the middle of a reception for the senior officers of the Torcea Guild; the badge brought him scuttling to heel like a terrier. Yes, he could get Poldarn into the apartments, but actual admittance to the inner chambers was in the hands of the Chamberlain More stairs, passageways, courtyards. The Chamberlain was entertaining friends with a recital of chamber music, given by the most expensive musicians in Torcea. When he was shown the badge he didn't scuttle, but he didn't waste time, either. Yes, he could get Poldarn into the inner chambers, but then he'd have to explain himself to the Household Secretary At least this time the passageways and stairwells were attractive places to pass through: paintings, tapestries, fine oak panelling, statues, fountains. The Secretary was in a meeting with the department heads from the Exchequer, but a glimpse of the badge persuaded him that he could spare a few minutes. He looked at Poldarn down a mile of narrow nose; then he said that the badge was all very well, but 'It's all right,' said a familiar voice. 'He's expected.'

None of them had heard the side door open. The Secretary swung round, swallowed and sort of flattened himself against the wall, as if a heavy load was coming through. Poldarn wasted a moment or so staring before he said, 'Noja?'

She moved her lips but didn't actually smile. 'It's all right,' she reassured the Secretary, the Chamberlain, the Prefect and the various other bits and pieces that had stuck to them along the way, 'You don't need to worry about anything. I'll take him the rest of the way, it'll be fine. As I said, he's expected.'

Not far down the next corridor, he turned to her and said, 'Noja, what the hell-?'

She shushed him, as though he was a small child. 'Normally,' she said, 'the Secretary would've referred you to the Chaplain in Ordinary. But we both know why that'd be a bad idea, don't we?'

'No,' Poldarn said; then; 'Oh, you mean Cleapho-'

Noja stopped by a fine red and black lacquered cabinet, opened it and took out a bundle wrapped in soft grey cloth. It was about three feet long. 'Do your dreams still have crows in them?' she asked.

Poldarn nodded. 'Always,' he said. 'How do you know-?'

'Sometimes you'd call out in your sleep,' she said, pulling the cloth back. Inside it was a sword: a raider backsabre, not quite finished, still rough and unpolished. But, since the last time he'd seen it (in Colonel Lock's office in Falcata), someone had hardened and tempered it, fitted the tang with wooden scales, even ground the edge. 'It's all right,' she said. 'Take it, it won't bite you.'

He hesitated. 'What's this for?' he said. She didn't answer. 'Is your name really Noja?' he asked.

She sighed. 'No, of course not,' she replied. 'And you don't recognise me, which is fine. I actually thought, a couple of times, that you might know who I was. You were looking at me.'

'You-reminded me of someone,' Poldarn said. 'Things you did, the way you moved. I guessed you reminded me of Xipho.'

Her lips were thin and tight. 'No,' she said. 'I think I reminded you of me. But not enough,' she added. 'Which is a shame, all things considered. Come on, we're nearly there.'

He had to hurry to keep up. 'No, listen,' he said, 'this is getting out of hand. Do I know you? Well enough that you've heard me talk in my sleep?'

'Yes,' she said. 'This way.' She'd turned the handle of a door and opened it enough to let a sliver of yellow light slide through. The central panel of the door was beautifully painted: two crows sitting in a tall, thin tree.

'Welcome home,' she said.

'Welcome home,' she'd said.

He'd smiled, and it was probably the right thing to have done; she'd clearly been to a lot of trouble. There were garlands of flowers on the walls, a friendly blaze in the fireplace, bowls of dried rose petals to scent the air, all the things she'd have liked to welcome her home if she'd been away for four months. Wasted on him, but it was the thought that counted. 'Everything looks wonderful,' he'd said, trying to sound as if he meant it. She'd looked pleased, so that was all right.

'Come and sit down,' she'd said, 'you must be exhausted.' She'd kissed him again, then gone over to the long table in the corner and poured out a glass of wine. It was, inevitably, the sweet fortified muck that she liked and he hated, but he'd drunk it anyway. The result had been to make him feel even more tired, something he wouldn't have believed possible. 'You made very good time,' she'd said. 'We weren't expecting you till this evening.'

'Following winds across the Bay,' he'd replied, yawning. 'So, how've you been? And how's Choizen?' She always liked it when he remembered to ask after their son. 'Did he cut that tooth after all?'

She'd laughed, as if he'd said something endearingly stupid. 'That was weeks ago,' she'd said. 'He's cut another two since then. And he's fine. He said another word yesterday.'

'Really?'

She'd beamed at him. '"Biscuit",' she'd said proudly. 'Well, what he actually said was "iskik", but he was pointing at the plate and smiling, so-'

His cue to laugh, so he'd done that. 'Wonderful,' he'd said, stifling another yawn. 'Where is he?'

'Asleep,' she'd said. 'Talking of which, you look tired out. Maybe you should have a lie-down before dinner.'

Before dinner? What he'd really wanted to do was sleep for a week. 'I'm fine,' he'd said, ransacking his memory for another scrap of domestic trivia to enquire after. She liked to believe that he thought about home when he was away; as if he had nothing better to occupy his mind with in the middle of a campaign than carpet-fitting and endless feuds with tradesmen. 'Did the men come to put up the new trellis?' he'd asked. Apparently they had. Oh, joy.

'They had a dreadful job getting the posts in the ground, though.' She'd sat down next to him, cosy but not actually touching. 'It took them two days, and I'm afraid the lavender got a bit trampled. But yes, it's up, and it looks really nice.'

He'd smiled again, thinking, Thank God for that; I've been worrying myself sick over the trellis in the middle courtyard. Even in the middle of the battle, when they broke through and it looked pretty much as though we weren't going to make it, that fucking trellis was never far from my thoughts-'Splendid,' he'd said. 'Next year we can grow our own sweet peppers. That'll be nice.'

'Oh.' She'd looked disappointed. 'I thought we were going to put in those climbing roses, from Malerve.'

Roses, peppers, whatever; like it mattered. 'That'd be good,' he'd replied.

'Yes, but if you've set your heart on peppers-'

'Roses will be much better.'

But her face had shown she was still disappointed, probably because she'd guessed that he didn't care. Fine; too tired to fret about stuff like that. 'Have you seen much of your father while I've been away?' he'd asked, trying to sound casual.

She'd nodded. 'We went over for dinner a few times; mum and Turvo like to see Choizen. I…' She'd hesitated. 'I asked Dad where you'd gone, but he didn't seem to want to tell me. I suppose he was afraid I'd be worried.' Another pause. 'Was it-dangerous?'

Was it dangerous. Just as well he'd got out of it without a scratch, or there'd have been scars to explain. 'No,' he'd said, 'just routine stuff, all very boring. And I'm home now, so that's all right.'

As he'd said it, he couldn't help wondering how she'd have reacted if he'd told her the truth: that, on her father's orders, he'd just led an army of freelances, Amathy house, in a joint venture with the unspeakable, monstrous raiders, who everyone knew weren't even properly human, to wipe the city of Alson off the face of the earth, taking particular care to make sure there were no survivors at all. Would she be shocked? He'd looked at her. She was his wife, she'd borne him a son, in a remote and unsentimental way he loved her; and he didn't know the answer to that.

Like that mattered, too.

'We'd better go round there tomorrow,' he'd said. 'There's a few things I need to talk over with your father. Not tonight, though.'

'Of course not,' she'd said. 'Now stay there, I've got a surprise for you. Promise not to look.'

'Promise.'

She'd bustled out; he'd managed to keep his eyes open while she was out of the room, knowing that once they closed, they'd stay closed for at least twelve hours. About the only thing she could have brought him that he wanted just then was a bath; but that wouldn't have been a surprise.

'Here you are.' She'd handed him a box. Rosewood, with brass fretwork hinges. Nice box, as boxes go, and you can never have too many of them. 'Go on, then,' she'd said, 'open it.'

Oh, right, there's something inside the box. Too tired to think straight-He'd opened the box; and inside, he'd found a book.

It's very kind of you, but what the fuck do I want with-? He'd caught sight of the spine. Very old book, the lettering on the vellum binding very brown and faint. Concerning Various Matters.

'That's-' He hadn't been able to say anything else. Concerning Various Matters: the rarest book in the world, just the one copy known to exist, in the Great Library at Deymeson-until a foolish young student called Cordomine had tried to break in and read it, and set the whole place on fire. Since then, no Cordomine and no book: the sum of all knowledge, the entire memory of the human race, wiped out in one moment of destruction 'Where on earth did you get this from?' he'd heard himself say.

She'd grinned like a monkey. 'It was the most amazing stroke of luck. There were these monks-not proper monks, like the Order and everything, they belonged to some funny little religion out in the middle of nowhere, and then the raiders came and burned the place down; and there was only just time to save one thing from the whole monastery before they were all killed, and this was it. And they ended up here in the city, and one of them was finally fed up with being a monk, so he left the others and took this book because he reckoned it might be valuable. He was trying to get in to see Dad when I was over there, and the doorkeepers were telling him to go away, but for some reason I was interested, and asked what was going on; and I know it's a book you're interested in, because I heard you talking about it with some of your school friends, years ago. Anyhow, the upshot was that I bought it from him, for thirty grossquarters. Wasn't that a stroke of luck?'

He'd smiled feebly. Nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a thousand, unique priceless ancient texts bought from wandering dispossessed monks must be handled with extreme care for fear of smudging the still-wet ink; but this was the thousandth time, because the monastery in question had to be Besvacharma, and it hadn't just been the raiders who'd sacked it; and he'd nearly died in that burning library, trying to rescue some clown of a sergeant 'Fantastic,' he'd said quietly; and he was thinking, five copies, no, six; this one'll have to go to Deymeson, but I'll make it a condition that they make me six copies-Xipho, me, Gain, the Earwig, Father Tutor and one for the open shelves, just to make sure nobody ever tries breaking into the secure section at night (One of these days, I might even find the time to read the bloody thing.)

'Are you all right?' she said. 'You look awful.'

He shook his head. 'I'm sorry,' he replied. 'Only-this is where I live.'

'I just said so, didn't I?'

He stared; at the table, the chairs, the candle-stand. 'I remember this room,' he said. 'Do you realise what that means? I remembered-'

She shrugged. 'That's good, surely.'

(And no crows anywhere; not a dream. Not that; or this-unless the crows painted on the door counted, in which case all the years he'd spent here, with her, had been a dream too.) 'I remembered that time,' he said, 'when I came home and you'd found me that book-'

'Ah yes.' She laughed frostily. 'The one you liked so much you gave it away at once. What a thing to remember, after-'

'I remembered.' He felt weak in the legs, backed into a chair, and sat down awkwardly. 'Your brother,' he said suddenly, 'the man who found me in the woods. He really is your brother, isn't he?'

She smiled. 'Well done,' she said. 'Do you remember his name?'

'Turvo.' Poldarn frowned. 'He's got a crippled hand, I noticed it the first time I saw him. And Turvo-'

She nodded. 'You did that,' she said, 'in a year-end duel. You managed to end the bout without killing him, just crippling his right hand; because,' she added sourly, 'you loved me. We all thought you were wonderful, especially Turvo.'

'So that house he took me to, where I met you-'

'That's right,' she replied, smiling; then she went on, 'I couldn't believe you wouldn't figure it out, even if you had lost your memory. Did you really think someone could afford a house like that just from doing well in the dried-fish business?'

'Turvo-but I thought he'd died. Didn't somebody say-?'

She looked at him again. 'Wrong prince,' she said. 'You must be thinking of Prince Choizen. Name ring a bell?'

He felt as though his throat was being crushed from the inside. 'Choizen,' he said. 'Our son.'

'Killed,' she said. 'A month or so ago.' She closed her eyes. 'I'd sent him to find you. Silly, really,' she went on, 'because he hadn't set eyes on you for twelve years, not since Dad sent him away to school because he didn't want his grandson growing up under your influence, so how was he supposed to recognise you if he did find you? But no, I had to write to him, ask him-' She looked up. 'He found you,' she said. 'And of course, you weren't to blame.'

He stared at her. 'I don't understand,' he said.

She was looking over his shoulder, at someone who wasn't there. 'He wrote to me,' she went on, 'said he'd heard something interesting, about Muno Silsny and some unknown saviour; he had an idea, from something they'd found in Father Tutor's papers after he died, before Deymeson was destroyed-He was on his way to find you, but he never got there. Robbers, they said, somewhere between Falcata and that foundry place.' He glanced at her, but there was nothing to see. 'So,' she went on, 'now all I've got left is you.'

The young, loathsome nobleman he'd been forced to kill, on the road, that miserable day with Chiruwa, when everything had gone wrong. Small world. 'Me,' he said.

'That's right.' She was so calm it was frightening. 'Our son's dead, and that's that. I finally stopped crying last week, when Turvo wrote and said he'd found you at last, in the forest. You know, I was ashamed. I caught myself thinking, my baby's been murdered by some disgusting bandit, but Ciartan's coming home, so that's all right… I knew, of course: about you losing your memory, all the stuff about Xipho Dorunoxy. That was a horrible trick, don't you think? Typical Deymeson; and now she's got her baby and I've lost mine, but I've got you-' She allowed herself one terrible, dry sob. 'So I guess I've won, in the end. On points-isn't that what the monks say about a duel, when both the fighters die but one of them was carved up a little bit more than the other?' She reached out with her fingertips, violating his circle, touching the melted skin of his face. 'I've got what's left of you,' she said. 'Not your face, and not your memory, because they're both gone for ever, but I've got what's left, at the end. Is that winning, do you think? Winner takes all?'

'I suppose,' he said quietly.

She sighed, as if trying to clear all the air out of her body. 'The one thing I always needed to know,' she said, 'and I never dared ask; because there was always the tiny risk, the million-to-one chance, that you'd give me an honest answer, tell me the truth… Now I can ask, and it's all right, because you don't know the bloody answer: did you love me? Really? Or was it always Xipho?'

I killed our son, because I had to, with the axe I found in the ditch in the field where I killed the crows; and she wants to know if I loved her. 'Yes,' he said. 'I loved you very much. I had a dream about it.'

'A dream with crows in?'

'Yes.'

She closed her eyes, nodded. 'That's all right, then,' she said. 'There now, I've asked, and you've given me the answer I wanted to hear.' She opened her eyes and smiled at him; it was like staring down a deep well. 'Because I love you, Ciartan,' she said. 'I always have. I know you only married me because you wanted the connection with Dad, because you needed each other for business. I know what you thought of me-airhead, clothes horse, worthless little rich girl. Didn't matter. It hurt so much that you despised me, because-' She shook her head. 'Doesn't matter,' she said. 'You're here now, and that's the main thing. I rescued you, and I'm going to keep you safe, and you need me just to stay alive and I'm the only one who can protect you now.' His face must have betrayed what he'd been thinking, because she laughed grimly, and said, 'It wasn't easy, mind, rescuing you. It was as though you didn't want to be rescued. As soon as it was confirmed that it really was you at that foundry place, I sent Turvo's best men to fetch you, but that idiotic old man in charge of the garrison-he thought they'd come to take you away to be killed, you see, and so he gave them that horrible Gain Aciava instead. And when he got here and we realised what'd happened, he figured out that I knew where you were, and reported back to his master, Cleapho; and so now we're going to have a civil war, just because Brigadier Muno wanted to repay you for saving his nephew's life. Everything to do with you goes horribly wrong sooner or later, which makes loving you ruinously expensive, if you see what I mean. This,' she said, holding out her hand and showing him Muno Silsny's badge. 'When I heard that General Muno'd given this to you, I thought, now it'll be all right, he'll use it to come straight here, safely.' She frowned. 'You do know what this is, don't you? It's Dad's personal warrant, you could've gone anywhere with this. I gave it to Muno Silsny specially, just in case it was you he was looking for. But no, you have to go and give it away to some beggar in the street…' She paused, looked at him. 'How did you get it back, by the way?' she asked.

'I met her again,' Poldarn replied. 'The old mad woman.'

'Oh. How fortuitous. You always did have a habit of giving away expensive presents; like that stupid book, of course. When I think of the trouble I went to-'

Poldarn couldn't help grinning. 'But I got that back, too,' he said. 'Gain Aciava gave it to me, at the foundry.'

'Really?' She didn't sound all that interested. 'Well, they always did say you were lucky, Ciartan. If you got drunk and fell in the sewer you'd find a gold piece. After all, you gave me away when you turned against Dad, and here we are again.'

He looked up. 'Did I?'

'You don't-No, of course, how silly of me. Yes, you were going to, though you never actually got round to it; and then he was too smart for you. He's always been too smart for you, Ciartan, but there, I never did love you for your intelligence. Truth is, everybody's smarter than you are; Dad, Cleapho, the new man, Xipho, Father Tutor. Even Gain Aciava, and he's one notch below the little squirmy things you find in dead trees. Even-' She grinned coldly. 'Even silly little me. You always thought you were one step ahead, and all the time you were always one step behind, and someone else was leading you along like a pig to market. There, I've been meaning to tell you that for I don't know how long, but I never had the nerve to actually come out and say it. But you're mine now, so I can.' She looked into his eyes for a moment, then shrugged. 'The silly thing is,' she said, 'really, this is the crowning moment of my entire life, the one thing I've wanted ever since I was that silly young girl who loved you at first sight; I should be happy-' She shuddered. 'And this whole ghastly pantomime, with Turvo, pretending I was that bitch's sister, just because I had to know: had you really lost your memory or was it just another ridiculous game? If you were coming back, was it just because you thought you'd be able to patch things up with Dad and save your miserable neck; had you really loved the bitch all along? But that's all fine now, because when you said you wanted to kill Dad it sounded like you meant it; and of course, you'd know that Xipho Dorunoxy never had a sister. But the main thing is, you don't know; you can't remember if you ever really loved me, so that information is lost and gone for ever, and so there's ho danger at all that one day you'll look me in the eye and say, No, I never cared a damn about you, it was all just pretending and lies. So I'm safe, and I've won. Isn't that wonderful!'

Poldarn was thinking: all the cities burned and people killed, and all you can find to care about is love? You stupid bloody woman. But he said, 'So what are we going to do now?'

She laughed. 'Oh, anything you like,' she said. 'Anything at all. Don't listen to them when they tell you Cleapho's the second most powerful person in the Empire. My father's the second most powerful person in the Empire; because there's all sorts of things he can do but daren't, but there's nothing he wouldn't do for me.' She looked him over as though he was a new pair of shoes. 'First,' she said, 'I think we'll make your peace with Dad-he'd have had you killed like that if he thought I wouldn't find out, but as soon as he realises I know you're still alive and right here with me, that makes you the safest man in the world. Then I think we'll get him to recognise you as the heir to the throne. After all, you're my husband, and Choizen's dead, Turvo's not legitimate issue and the Empire isn't really ready for a woman Emperor, so there isn't actually any choice. Do you know, Turvo really likes you a lot? Reckons he owes you his life, and he always admired you, all through school. He even liked Choizen, which was more than I ever did; oh, I loved him, of course, but he was an obnoxious little monster, bumptious and vicious and so wanting to be Deymeson-trained like his father. He worshipped you, of course, which was easy enough for him to do since he'd practically never set eyes on you since he was a baby. Yes, I think that's what we'll do with you, my love: we'll make you into an Emperor. That'll serve you right for being with that bitch, even if you didn't know what you were doing.'

Suddenly she laughed. 'My God, Ciartan,' she said, 'you should see yourself. I've seen happier-looking faces nailed to the city gate.'

'I was just thinking,' he said softly. 'You say you rescued me-'

'I did rescue you.'

'I believe you,' he told her. 'But you thought I was coming here to kill your father. How can you say you love me when-?'

She smiled at him as if he was simple. 'Ciartan, my love,' she said. 'You're my husband, he's my father. What on earth makes you think I'd have a problem with loving men just because they're murderers?' She hesitated, and frowned. 'You said that as if that wasn't what you really came for,' she said. 'You aren't trying to tell me you weren't planning to kill him after all? Because I may be morally bankrupt, but I'm not stupid-'

'It doesn't matter,' he said. 'I've changed my mind. I don't want to kill anyone any more.'

She looked at him quizzically. 'Oh? How come?'

'Because it doesn't seem important now,' he said. 'I thought my life was empty, and suddenly it's not.'

'Because I love you?'

'Because somebody-Because of something I did,' he said slowly, 'which I'd rather not tell you about. But now everything's different; I don't have to be the sort of man I used to be. I'd got it into my head that I had to put things right, and the only way someone like me could do that was by another killing, because that's all I am, ever since I was sent here by my grandfather, and the monks and your father got hold of me, and they all wanted to use me as a weapon. First I thought I could get by just by running away. But everywhere I went and everything I did, I made trouble, and everything turned to blood and fire, and I had to assume it was me, who I really was. But if only I could escape from that, be someone else: I had the chance, you see-I woke up one day and my memory was gone; and now even my face. I'm trying to tell myself, everything bad I've done is just shadows thrown by the past, because no matter what I tell myself to do, I've always been looking back, trying to see what's there.' He looked at her, then looked away. 'You know me much better than I do,' he said. 'What do you think? What I really came here to do was get rid of myself, and someone else as bad as me while I was at it, but that was really just an excuse. Do you think I can start again, properly this time?'

Her eyes were very wide. 'No,' she said. 'There's no way you could ever change, not so it'd make a difference. If you went away as far as it's possible to go, where nobody knew you, it wouldn't change anything: you'd still be exactly the same. Not even if you lived in an oasis in the desert, you'd be red to the wrists in someone's blood inside a year. Oh, you aren't evil, in the way that some people are. You just carry it around with you; like those people who don't catch the plague themselves but give it to everybody they meet. I'm sorry, but that's exactly who you are, and nothing's ever going to change that.'

Poldarn sighed. He knew all that, but somehow hearing it from someone else, someone who knew him better than he could ever know himself, made it feel like being sentenced to death. 'The most evil man in the world,' he said. 'I've been called that by several people who ought to know. Am I?'

'Not evil,' she said, 'I just told you that. Like you said just now, you're a weapon. Maybe if someone took hold of you and used you for something good, it'd be different. But if you take a step back and consider all the people in your life, you can see that's not going to happen. And you can't make it happen all by yourself. If you jump out of the scabbard, people just trip over you and cut themselves.'

'I see,' he said. 'So, what are you planning to do with me?'

She smiled. Not affectionately. 'I'm going to keep you,' she said.

At some point, they made love, in the huge bedroom of his house. Afterwards, she rolled away and lay with her back to him. He drifted into sleep, and the river mud welled up around his face. He could hear voices above him; familiar, in a way.

'So,' said one of them, 'you're back. Welcome home.'

'You haven't won,' the other voice replied. 'You tricked me.'

'Yes, didn't I just? But the result's the same. Here you are, back with me where you belong. That's all that matters.'

'You're wrong.' The other voice was quiet, determined. 'You've got me here, and maybe you can force me to stay, but you can't stop me hating you. And I always will, now that I've seen what it could be like, out there-'

'Balls. Now you're back, it won't be a week before you slide back into the old routine. We were made for each other, you know that.'

'No.' The voice was almost shouting now. 'You only ever made me do what you wanted by threatening me, and now I'm here, the worst's happened. What are you going to threaten me with now? There's nothing left.'

Laughter. 'You really think so?'

'You're bluffing.'

'You know that's not true. Listen, I still have a few bits and pieces up my sleeve. I could tell you, and then you'd know; and once you knew, you could never even try and run away again, because there wouldn't be any point. But I want to be nice, I don't want to tell you if I can help it. After all, the only thing I've ever wanted is for you to be happy.'

'I don't believe you. I think the worst you ever had was what I've already found out. After all, nothing could be worse than that, apart from some of the things I've done since I left you. Eyvind and Choizen-'

More laughter. 'Funny you should mention them. You really think you did those things on your own. I was there, you just didn't see me. I'm always with you, wherever you go. You might as well try running away from your shadow.'

Pause; the other voice was choosing its words carefully. 'There's no shadows in the darkness,' it said. 'It takes light to make shadows. I've been in places darker than you, but I didn't become you. Because I knew that no matter what I did, at least I was free of you-'

'You burned your best friend to death. You killed your own son.' The voice was mocking. 'What is it they say about imitation?'

'Those things were your fault.'

'No. You killed Eyvind because you thought it was the right thing to do; and maybe it was, in that place, at that time. You killed Choizen in self-defence, because you tried to rob him on the road and he fought back. You were there on the road because you'd been laid off at the foundry, and Chiruwa fooled you into going highway robbing with him, and when you found out what he was really planning to do, you weren't bothered enough by it to walk away. You killed Carey, the fieldhand, mostly just because he was there. I had nothing to do with any of that. And there's all the soldiers, and the Deymeson monks, poor fools who had the bad luck to cross your path at the wrong time.' Dry laughter. 'And the joke is, that's nothing at all compared with what you've set in motion, just because you felt sorry for a crazy old woman in a broad-brimmed hat. But I could still tell you something about us-about me-that'd hurt you very much; you'll survive knowing, but it won't make you like yourself any more. Truth is,' the voice went on, 'I know you better than you do; so it follows that I know what's best for you, and for me too. Trust me.'

'No.'

'Trust me,' the voice said urgently, 'and Xipho and the Earwig won't have to die. Together we can save them. On your own, you wouldn't know how.'

Pause. 'I'd rather let them die than come back with you.'

'There.' Total triumph in that voice. 'You see, I've won. You always were your own worst enemy.'

'Apart from you.'

'Me? You love me-'

'I love you,' he heard her say.

He couldn't help yawning, having just woken up. She laughed.

'I didn't mean to yawn,' he said. 'What time is it?'

'Late,' she replied. 'Come on, get up. You always were useless in the mornings.'

He grunted, rolled off the bed and looked for his clothes, which had vanished. In their place 'What the hell are these?' he asked.

'Get dressed and don't argue.'

He held up the shirt. 'You must be joking,' he said. 'There's enough brass thread in this to make a Poldarn's Flute.'

She clicked her tongue. 'That's not brass,' she said.

'You mean-Oh.' Explained why the shirt was so heavy. He'd come across lighter mail shirts. The trousers were the same, only more so. Even the shoes 'Whose clothes are these, anyway?' he asked.

'Yours.'

He was about to argue when he caught the faint smell of cedarwood. Keeps the moths at bay, he'd heard somewhere. 'Mine,' he repeated.

She nodded. 'Of course, they're three years out of fashion-you're going to look like a clown, but that can't be helped. I've ordered you a whole new wardrobe, but these things take time.'

'I used to wear things like this,' he said; and he realised what a stranger he'd become to himself. 'Where are we going, then, if I need to dress up?'

She gave him a long, steady look. 'Dinner,' she said. 'With my father.'