by K. J. Parker
‘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 c
ould 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 the
re 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?’
