by K. J. Parker
Soft red light light outlined the edges of the window frame when he opened his eyes. Three women were standing over him, holding jugs of water and towels; it took him some time to persuade them to go away and let him wash on his own. They’d left him yet another change of clothes, and a pair of beautifully soft green leather slippers; his boots, however, had vanished without trace. The implication was that he wasn’t going anywhere, at least for a while. For a moment he was annoyed; but what the hell, he thought, will it matter so very much if I destroy the world tomorrow rather than today?
No sooner had he dressed than the door opened (nobody ever knocked) and yet more women came in; one of them was the woman he’d reckoned was Ciana’s sister. She smiled at him.
‘I’m Noja,’ she said. ‘My brother asked me to fetch you down to breakfast.’ More food, Poldarn thought, surely not; she met his gaze and laughed. ‘You’ve missed him and the rest of them, I’m afraid,’ she went on. ‘He thought you’d probably rather sleep in. But if you’re not starving to death, maybe you’d like some bread and cheese and some fruit—’
‘Thanks,’ Poldarn said quickly, ‘that’ll be fine.’
She nodded. ‘Food is a serious hazard in this house,’ she said, as she led him down the stairs. ‘It sort of stalks you like a predator. You have to be very careful or it’ll overwhelm you. Which is why I never leave my room in the mornings till everyone else is safely out of the house, and nobody’s likely to jump out at me and make me eat roast pork and sausages.’
Poldarn shrugged. ‘I’ve got nothing against roast pork,’ he said, ‘or sausages, even. But I’ve been, well, travelling for quite a while, and I guess I’m out of practice where competitive eating’s concerned.’
‘I see,’ Noja replied. ‘In that case, later on I’ll show you some good places where you can hide during mealtimes. You can trust me, I’ve had years of experience.’
She didn’t lead him back to the great hall where they’d eaten the previous evening; apparently she had a small breakfast-room of her own, where she could indulge her perverted taste for not guzzling in polite seclusion. It seemed odd to Poldarn that there could be such a small, plain room in Ciana’s house; it was scarcely larger than the shed Spenno and Galand Dev had built to house the master furnace, and only about half a dozen servants stood around and watched while they ate their hot rolls and watermelon.
‘You probably think my brother’s a clown,’ Noja said suddenly, as she washed her fingers in a silver bowl. ‘Actually, he’s not. Our father was a tenant farmer in Tulice; my brother came here with two shirts and a writing set, and worked day and night for five years as a jobbing clerk until he’d saved the deposit for a loan on his first ship. He sent for me when I was fourteen, saved me from having to marry the boy next door, for which I’ll always be grateful. The hunting thing comes from when he was about ten, before I was born. The landlord’s sons used to come out to Tulice to hunt, and they used to let him carry the nets and work the dogs, and when they’d had a good day they’d give him a generous tip, five or six quarters; that’s how he was able to save up the fare and the price of his ink bottles and writing slope. These days he’s doing very well, thanks to a good eye for quality and a fair amount of common sense, but he’s never forgotten those hunting trips when he was a kid, he’s always trying to get back there, even though he knows he can’t – he says there’s a hole in time that’s just big enough for his mind to slip through, but his body’s got too fat. I suppose we’ve all got one or two special memories that we hold on to, like an anchor or climbing up a rope.’
Poldarn looked at her. ‘Not me,’ he said.
‘Really?’ Her look suggested that she didn’t believe him.
‘Really,’ he said. ‘Which is probably just as well. If memory’s a rope, my guess is that the other end would be round my neck.’
She stared at him, then laughed. ‘What an extraordinary thing to say,’ she said. ‘You make it sound like you’ve got memories, but you’ve found out how to avoid them, the way I avoid mealtimes.’
‘They haven’t caught me yet,’ Poldarn said, ‘but I have a feeling it’s more luck than judgement.’
Noja examined him again, like Spenno assessing the strength of a welded seam, then smiled. ‘Well, best of luck, anyhow. What would you like to do today? Jetat said that if this is your first time in Torcea, maybe you’d like me to show you the sights.’
‘Actually—’ Poldarn hesitated. There was definitely a case to be made for it, probably a whole sheaf of precepts of religion about the importance of thorough reconnaissance; it’d be better than having to ask the way in bakers’ shops, and he didn’t have any money to buy a map, assuming there were such things as maps of cities. ‘That would be very kind of you,’ he said, ‘if you can spare the time.’
Her smile widened, like a flaw in a casting. ‘I’m entirely at your disposal,’ she said gravely (Copis, assigned to him by the Faculty of Deymeson). ‘I’ll tell them to get a carriage ready.’
The Ciana family’s second-best carriage certainly made a change from carts. The spokes of its wheels were impossibly slim, and there was a dainty little set of folding steps to preserve passengers’ dignity as they got in. Two coachmen sat in front, and two large men in livery sat behind (chaperones or bodyguards, or maybe they were just there to produce food in case a passenger had somehow managed to go an hour without eating something). There were four matched horses, and enough non-functional silverwork was riveted and stitched to the harness to pay for a road across the Tulice marshes. Which was, of course, exactly the degree of style appropriate for the entry of the god in the cart into Torcea—
‘That’s the Oratory, over there,’ Noja was saying, ‘and you can just see the spire of the North Star Tower over there – no, you’ve missed it, that’s the Merchant Venturers’ Hall, and down from there on the left is the Ordnance Grounds, with the Processional leading to the North Bridge—’
‘I see,’ Poldarn lied. ‘Is that near where the Emperor lives?’
Noja looked at him. ‘How do you mean?’ she said. ‘When he visits, you mean? Well, usually he stays at the Guild House, or the Prefecture . . .’
Poldarn frowned. ‘The Emperor doesn’t live in Torcea?’
‘Good heavens, no.’ She laughed. ‘The palace is at Gondleve, that’s a day’s drive north; or there’s the summer palace at Ondene, or the autumn lodge at Ducuse. And when the Council’s in session, of course, he’s at Bolway.’
‘Oh,’ Poldarn said. ‘So where would he be now?’
Noja had to think about that. ‘Probably,’ she said, ‘at Beal, for the honey festival. Tazencius likes to be seen at things like that, so people will start thinking he’s really the Emperor.’ She smiled. ‘You know, I haven’t been to the honey festival for years. I don’t suppose it’s the same as it used to be – we used to go every year, but my brother sold off that side of the business. Would you like to go? It’s quite fun.’
Poldarn could feel pressure on the edge of his circle. Nobody had asked what his business in Torcea was; one explanation was that they already knew, and of course there were others, more likely. ‘How far is it?’ he asked. ‘I really don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘Not far,’ Noja replied. ‘We can stay overnight at the Purity of Soul at Orchat, it’s not what it used to be, of course, but people still go out there quite often; and the festival proper doesn’t actually start until tomorrow evening.’
He studied her for a heartbeat or so, then said, ‘It was an accident.’
She looked puzzled. ‘Sorry, what was?’
Slowly Poldarn drew the side of his little finger down his face, from his eyelid to the corner of his mouth. He’d never get used to how the skin felt. ‘I used to work in a foundry,’ he said. ‘Getting splashed with molten brass is something of an occupational hazard. Both you and your brother have been amazingly polite about it, but—’
This time, Noja’s laugh sounded different; when Spenno rapped a new
ly cast bell with a small hammer, you could tell by the ring whether the casting was sound or blemished. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, ‘I wasn’t laughing at you, it’s just – you do know why you’re here, don’t you?’
Here we go again, Poldarn thought. ‘I’ve got a few bits of business I’ve got to attend to in Torcea, if that’s what you mean,’ he said. ‘And your brother was kind enough—’
‘You don’t know.’ She was looking at him again. ‘Well, it’s hardly likely he’d tell you, but I thought one of his relatives, or maybe the servants— He brought you home with him for me.’ She flushed. ‘Other brothers bring back lace shawls or amber brooches for their sisters, Ciana brings me– well, ugly men.’ She frowned. ‘That didn’t come out right,’ she said. ‘Is it all right if I start at the beginning, or would you prefer to make a scene first?’
Poldarn shook his head. ‘Perfectly true,’ he said. ‘Actually, my friends tell me it’s an improvement. Go on.’
‘Well.’ They were driving past a huge and singularly impressive building, but Noja seemed to have abandoned her tour-guide role for the time being. ‘I told you my brother brought me out here when I was fourteen, and I was glad because it meant I didn’t have to marry some farmer. Truth is, I didn’t want to marry anybody; still don’t. Which Ciana understands, bless him, he’s amazingly good about it. He’s also very well aware that I get bored very easily when I’m on my own, and too much female company makes me want to scream.’ She looked sideways at him. ‘Actually, when I’m in a bad mood, I’m not nice to have about the house; so he’s always on the lookout for company for me. Interesting people; or, failing that, people who don’t get out of the way fast enough. But he can’t quite bring himself to keep me supplied with good-looking men, or even ordinary-looking ones – he’s still a brother, after all– so wherever he goes, he’s perpetually on the lookout for men he can trust me to be alone with—’
Poldarn grinned. ‘I see,’ he said.
‘Well, quite.’ Noja grinned back. ‘Actually, compared with some of the specimens he’s fetched home— There was one poor old devil who’d had his jaw smashed by a windlass handle, and the bones set all funny; and three or four with the most spectacular harelips; not forgetting the one-legged hunchback – delightful man, he knew all about flower remedies. So, I knew as soon as I saw you. I hope you don’t mind terribly much.’
‘Doesn’t bother me at all,’ Poldarn replied. ‘I mean, I think your brother is a very strange man, but I’m not in the least offended or anything like that. Is he right, by the way? That is, does it work?’
‘What do you – oh, I see what you mean.’ She frowned slightly. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘At least, he needn’t bother, I really do only want someone to keep me company. It’s just the way I am, really.’
(Copis again, Poldarn thought.) ‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘But – well, I really do have things I have to see to while I’m here, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course.’ She looked at the back of the coachman’s neck. ‘But not straight away, I hope.’
Poldarn hesitated; then he said, ‘There’s nothing that can’t wait a day or so. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.’
Noja shook her head. ‘Can’t be done,’ she replied. ‘And believe me, better men than you have tried. But when it comes to being embarrassing, I’m the heavyweight champion. Now, do you want to head out to Beal right away, or would you rather see a bit more of the city first, or what? Like I told you, I don’t mind. Anything’s better than sitting in a room with a lot of women doing embroidery.’
‘Let’s go to Beal,’ Poldarn said, after pretending to think it over for a while. ‘And what exactly is a honey festival, anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever heard—’
‘It’s a festival,’ Noja said, ‘with honey. People – beekeepers, presumably – bring in thousands of jars of honey from the country, and you can buy it to take home or just stand there eating it with a spoon until you throw up, and there’s a prize for the best honey in the show. We used to go because my brother got landed with a bee farm when one of his customers went bust and his assets were divided up; being Jetat, he made a study of the honey trade, hired a good bailiff, turned the business round in four years and sold it at a thumping great profit. And like I said, the festival was good fun, in a nauseating sort of way.’
Poldarn shrugged. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’ He didn’t ask again whether the Emperor would be there; he’d heard her the first time, after all, and he didn’t want to be too obvious.
Noja sent one of the footmen back to the house to tell Ciana Jetat where they’d gone; that left one footman and two coachmen (three to one, in Deymeson terms, assuming Noja classed as a non-combatant). The ride out of town towards the northern hills – Beal lay in the valley on the other side – was slow and dull: Noja embarked on a series of tales of mercantile adventure involving daring purchasing coups and bluffs called and uncalled in jute options and charcoal futures, most of which went over Poldarn’s head like teal rising out of a reed-bed. He filtered out the words and half-listened to the patterns and inflections of her voice, which was by no means unpleasant, reminding him of a cheerful but repetitive tune played on a cane-stalk flute. By the time her flow of commercial epics dried up, they were outside the city walls and trundling along a wide, dusty road flanked by tall beech hedges. There were carts and carriages and traps in front and behind, more going the other way. He thought about Falx Roisin, and his short time as a courier in the Bohec valley – terrible, fatal things had tended to happen to people who’d shared wheeled transport with him back then. In fact, a large proportion of what memories he had seemed to involve a combination of carts and unexpected violence.
Night fell faster in the hinterland of Torcea than in Tulice or the Bohec valley. The sunset was spectacular but short, and as soon as the sun had disappeared (like a big chunk of bronze scrap sinking down into the crucible as it melted) Poldarn began to feel uncomfortably cold in the thin shirt and coat he’d been issued with back at Ciana’s house. Noja looked like she was cold too; she’d stopped talking and was trying to snuggle down under a thin, coarse travelling rug, which she didn’t offer to share. All in all, Poldarn was delighted when they passed under a gallows sign and he read the words The Purity of Soul, with Orchat underneath in smaller letters.
‘Food,’ Noja said, as the coachmen unfolded the steps for her. ‘Don’t know about you, but this chill in the air’s given me an appetite. The leek and artichoke soup here was always fairly good, though I think the old cook quit about eighteen months ago. Still, it’s risk it or go hungry.’
‘We risk it,’ Poldarn said assertively. ‘And you said we’d be stopping here for the night.’
She nodded. The gesture reminded Poldarn very strongly of someone he couldn’t immediately call to mind.
The leek and artichoke soup was fairly ordinary, but the bacon and wild mushroom casserole was much better, or so Noja reckoned. As far as Poldarn was concerned, it was stew, and as such a profound improvement on nothing at all. In scale and volume it wasn’t anything like the catering at the Ciana house – you could see over your plate without a ladder – but Noja didn’t seem to mind, and memories of what passed for food at Dui Chirra were still fresh enough in Poldarn’s mind to make him grateful for anything he could get that didn’t have cinders floating on top of it. They ate in a small private dining room wedged in between the kitchens and the common room. It was warm and quiet, and Noja, for some reason, had started telling stories about her childhood in the country; something about stealing a cake from their well-off neighbours and hiding it under her sister’s bed, getting her into all sorts of trouble . . . Once again, Poldarn stepped back from what she was saying and treated her voice as music; just because he had so few memories of his own, he didn’t necessarily need to fill up the empty space with other people’s. Instead, he tried to reconstruct the geography of the forest where he’d first run into Ciana Jetat; which direction had the light been coming from, ho
w far had he walked since dawn when he ran into the hunting party, and (probably most important of all) how had Cleapho, the most important man in the Empire, arrived at the rendezvous with Copis and Gain Aciava, alone and without getting covered in mud?
‘So that was that,’ Noja was saying. ‘My sister was sent to bed without any supper, while I was allowed to stay up until Daddy came home from the fair. Monstrously unjust, of course, and she never did get any of the cake—’
‘Your sister,’ Poldarn asked quietly. ‘What did you say her name was?’
Noja stopped and stared at him, her eyes suddenly wide. He’d seen that expression before, usually when his opponent had been expecting to be parried with the flat, and got a cut across the forearm instead. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘we always called her Weasel, because—’
