by K. J. Parker
Poldarn nodded. The dead man’s name was Gotto, not Gatto; Poldarn had only known him for a couple of days, not sixteen years. Still, when it came to a good memory for names, he was hardly in a position to criticise someone else. ‘Maybe it was just the horses they were after,’ he said, for the sake of saying something.
‘Didn’t you hear?’ Falx Roisin looked at him for a moment. ‘We found the horses, they’d just been run off, not stolen. Hadn’t gone far, either. Now there’s another thing. All right, they didn’t want the rivets, so they left them. But why unyoke the horses and run them off? Doesn’t make sense.’
‘Maybe they panicked,’ Poldarn said. ‘People do all sorts of weird things when they panic.’
‘Maybe,’ Falx Roisin replied. ‘Not that I’m complaining, mind. After all that, we didn’t lose the shipment, or the cart, or the horses. It’s just a terrible tragedy about poor Gatto, that’s all.’
Poldarn left him to his grief and went for a walk. In the back of his mind he was still a little worried about wandering about the town, just in case any of the men who’d broken up his meeting with Cleapho were still hanging around, but they weren’t watching the gates now, as he’d proved when he’d passed through on his way to Mael Bohec, and since he didn’t really have a clue who they were or what they wanted, it seemed pointless to spend the rest of his life hiding from them.
Nothing to do for the rest of the day, money in his pocket and all the delights of Sansory to explore. Having thought about it for a while, he decided that the only thing he really wanted was a new coat, to replace the one he’d given to the man who’d called himself Tazencius; he supposed he could go and get a replacement from the bins in Eolla’s storeroom, but the idea didn’t appeal to him. Just for once, it’d be nice to have something that hadn’t previously belonged to someone who’d died by violence.
Buying a coat in Sansory turned out to be far more complicated than he’d imagined. At times it seemed as if the whole city was made up of clothiers’ stalls, every single one of them cheaper than the last, all of them offering a better, brighter, warmer, more exactingly specified product for a fraction of the price of the one he’d just looked at and decided to buy. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he found out that the act of standing in silent thought between the rows of stalls in the market was enough to attract swarms of tailors, who swooped down on him from their shops and booths like crows on a dead body and swore blind they could make him the coat of his dreams to measure for a third of what he’d pay for some piece of off-the-peg rag. Since all the coats he saw looked perfectly good and excellent value for money, he was soon utterly bewildered and bitterly regretting getting involved in such a horrendously complex issue. By noon, he’d almost resolved to give it up and make do with anything Eolla offered him that didn’t have a brown-edged hole exactly halfway between the shoulder blades. Instead he bought a pancake and a mug of cider from a sad-looking man behind a barrow and sat down on the corn exchange steps to rest his aching feet.
From where he was sitting he had a clear view down a row of stalls. The stuff on them wasn’t anything that interested him much – luxury fabrics, mostly, with some jewellery and almost-jewellery, a couple of men behind benches mounted with lasts who presumably made women’s shoes, one or two specialising in mirrors and combs and boxes to put them in—
He looked back, and frowned. Then he swallowed the last of his pancake, got up, returned the empty mug to the man behind the barrow (who looked sadly at him but didn’t seem to hold a grudge) and made his way down the alley until he came to the stall he’d noticed where a woman was arranging a display of mirrors.
‘Copis?’ he said.
Copis looked up at him. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘it’s you. Hello.’
For some reason, she didn’t seem particularly pleased to see him. She leaned out over the table and looked up and down the alley to see if anybody was watching, then scowled at him and said, ‘You can’t have it back.’
That threw him. ‘Have what back?’ he asked.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said. ‘Your great big lump of solid gold, of course, the one you hid in the back of my cart. Bastard.’
He really couldn’t see the logic. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘What did I do?’
She looked daggers at him. ‘All that bullshit about having lost your memory. I believed you, you creep, I was actually sorry for you. And all that time you were using me as cover to get past whoever you stole that thing from. No wonder people were forever trying to kill us.’
It took him a moment to catch his breath. ‘It wasn’t like that—’ he said.
‘Well,’ she went on, ‘the laugh’s on you now, because I sold it and I’ve spent all the money – stock for this business, for one thing, and a house, which has got my name on the deeds and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it, and the rest’s where you’ll never find it, and it wouldn’t do you any good if you did. So if you’re here to make trouble, forget it.’
He couldn’t help grinning. ‘Is that it?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘That’s what you’re so upset about? Keep it. All yours. I was going to share it with you anyway, but somehow I never got round—’
‘Oh sure.’ She looked quite angry. ‘I believe you. You were waiting for my birthday, I expect, or All Fools’ Day. Damn it, I could’ve been killed.’
‘Yes,’ Poldarn said, ‘but it wasn’t anything to do with that lump of gold. I found it.’
She pulled a face. ‘You found it,’ she repeated.
‘Yes. You remember that burned-out temple, in the town where they’d cut down all the trees? It was in there. I tripped over it in the dark. I didn’t steal it from anybody, or at least not anybody living.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said.
‘Why not? Come on,’ he added, ‘think. Was I carrying anything when you found me?’
‘It was dark,’ she reminded him. ‘You could’ve crept up and hidden anything you liked in the back of the cart, I wouldn’t have noticed.’
‘Could I? I was too busy killing your friend.’ He shook his head and took a step back. ‘It’s just as I’ve told you,’ he said. ‘I found it in that temple place. And I was going to tell you about it; I nearly did, several times, but—’
‘But you didn’t trust me.’ She was scowling again. ‘That’s rich. Coming from you. You didn’t trust me.’
Poldarn smiled. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So now you do believe me?’
‘I didn’t say that. All I’m saying is, if you are telling the truth, then you’re still a bastard. And you aren’t getting any of the money, either way. Understood?’
‘Perfectly.’
She looked at him. ‘That’s all right, then.’ She reached out and adjusted the position of a mirror that wasn’t exactly in line with the others. It reminded Poldarn of Mael Bohec. ‘Just so long as we’re clear on that.’ There was a moment of rather awkward silence; then she burst out, ‘So what the hell happened to you? I was convinced you were either dead or arrested. All those soldiers running about the place, and they brought out at least four dead bodies.’
Poldarn shrugged. ‘I’ll be honest with you, I have no idea,’ he said. ‘Cleapho knew who I was, but a bunch of soldiers burst in before I could find anything out. The really strange thing was, one of them knew me too.’
‘So? What did he tell you? The soldier, I mean.’
Poldarn looked away. ‘There wasn’t time to ask him, either.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake. You mean to tell me you haven’t found out anything?’
‘Enough to convince me that whatever I was mixed up in, I’m better off out of it.’
‘God, what an attitude!’ Copis stared at him, then shook her head. ‘If it was me, I’d do anything to find out who I was, I just couldn’t bear not knowing. Are you really trying to tell me you simply aren’t interested any more?’
Poldarn smiled, and stepped aside to allow a customer to get at the table. But
the customer turned out not to be a customer, just one of those strange but ubiquitous people who picks things up off stalls, glances at the underneath and puts them back again. ‘How shall I put it?’ he said. ‘Who’s the worst person you can possibly think of?’
‘What?’
‘Go on, it’s a simple question. Who’s the nastiest, most evil man who ever lived?’
‘How should I know?’
Poldarn scowled. ‘In your opinion, then, who’s the worst man who ever lived? Just say a name.’
‘All right. General Allectus.’
‘Really?’ Poldarn raised an eyebrow. ‘Was he that bad?’
‘No,’ Copis admitted, ‘but you were rushing me. All right; the leader of the raiders. Emperor Vectigal. The Boc Bohec scythe murderer. Feron Amathy. My stepfather.’
‘Thank you,’ Poldarn said. ‘Now, supposing I was one of them – Emperor Vectigal, say, whoever he was – but I’d lost my memory, and after a month or so of wandering about I settled down, got a job and started a new and reasonably happy life. If you were me, would you want to know who you really were?’
Copis frowned. ‘I wouldn’t want to be Emperor Vectigal,’ she said. ‘Because he’s dead. And before that he was a man. Of course, he was also the emperor, so I could probably have got used to it after a while.’ Before Poldarn could protest, she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I can see what you’re getting at. But the odds against it are pretty damn huge, you turning out to be some kind of evil monster. Chances are you’re just some ordinary man, with a wife and kids and a nice house somewhere. Can you really say you don’t want to find out about them?’
Poldarn shook his head. ‘Not worth the risk,’ he said. ‘Since we – well, went our separate ways, I’ve got a job and a place to live, I can start thinking about the possibility of having a future, instead of a past I can’t even remember.’
‘Really,’ Copis said. ‘So what’s this wonderful job of yours?’
‘I’m a courier for the Falx house.’
Probably, Copis’ attempt not to laugh was genuine, though completely unsuccessful. ‘And that’s your idea of a future, is it?’
‘It’s better than nothing.’
‘Oh, come on . . . Look, I’ve been in this town exactly as long as you have, and even I’ve learned that only real, desperate, suicidal losers end up as couriers for the Falx house. It’s what you do if you’re tired of life but you’re too thick to tie a knot in a rope to hang yourself by.’ She paused, and her expression changed slightly. ‘You aren’t really doing that, are you?’
‘Yes,’ Poldarn replied irritably. ‘And it’s not so bad. In fact, it suits me fine. Nice quiet life, getting out and about, seeing the countryside. Good money, all found—’
‘You must be the one who had his driver killed the other day,’ Copis interrupted. ‘It’s all over town. That’s your idea of a nice quiet life, is it?’
‘All right,’ Poldarn admitted with a sigh, ‘so it wasn’t a very auspicious start. But it can’t be like that all the time. I’ll bet you nothing even remotely interesting’s going to happen to me next time out, or the time after that, or the time after that. It’ll be just fine, you’ll see.’
Copis looked at him, then pulled a horrible face. ‘Oh, all right, then,’ she said wearily. ‘I suppose I’d feel really guilty if you went out and got your throat cut, and I’ve got all your money. I can get you four hundred quarters by this time tomorrow—’
‘No.’ Poldarn realised he’d shouted, and lowered his voice. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t want you to, really. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be able to save up enough money to look after myself in no time at all. I’ve already got the best part of seventy quarters, and I haven’t even been trying.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Copis said, sounding like somebody’s mother. ‘You can’t go risking your life like that, I’m not having it. There’s plenty of money for both of us – eighteen hundred quarters; have you got any idea how much money eighteen hundred quarters is?’
‘No,’ Poldarn said quietly, ‘but I can guess. Was it really worth that much?’
Copis nodded. ‘Pure gold, twelve points above imperial standard; they haven’t coined in that stuff for a hundred years. And I was ripped off; I got paid for the weight in modern coin metal, so you can add a fifth at least for what it was really worth. But I was in a hurry.’
Poldarn thought for a moment then shook his head. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘I still don’t want it, I wouldn’t feel right about it. I guess I must be superstitious or something.’
‘More fool you, then,’ Copis said, and he could tell that she was offended. ‘I won’t offer again, and since I’ll probably be clearing out of here and heading back to Torcea—’
‘That’s fine,’ Poldarn said, surprising himself by his own vehemence. ‘Good idea. I think you should get away from here, go somewhere you’ll be safe. I’d feel much better—’
‘You want me to go.’ She was positively angry now. ‘Fine, I’ll go. Now get lost, you’re scaring my customers away.’
‘All right,’ Poldarn said. ‘But for what it’s worth, I’m very glad you’re all right. You helped me out when I needed it; you deserve a bit of luck.’
‘Drop dead,’ Copis said.
He walked down the alley without looking round, and fairly soon he found himself in another area of the market where they sold excellent coats dirt cheap. This time he decided not to bother looking round and bought the first one he found that fitted. It was dark grey, with strings at the neck and a hood, some sort of blanket material, his for nine and a half quarters including the buttons.
On his way back to the Falx house, he heard a noise up ahead and saw that a crowd was gathering, watching something go by. It turned out to be a cart, very much like the one Copis had owned; it was being escorted by four cavalrymen in brightly polished helmets and breastplates, and in it sat a man and a woman, looking very frightened, covered with bruises, dried blood and dirt. The bystanders were yelling and jeering, and if they weren’t throwing things it was only for fear of hitting the cavalrymen and being arrested.
‘What’s going on?’ Poldarn asked the old woman he was standing next to.
‘They caught ’em,’ she replied with obvious satisfaction, ‘and now they’ll be tried and strung up, and a bloody good job. Hanging’s too good for ’em, I say.’
‘Really?’ Poldarn caught sight of their faces again between the heads and shoulders of the crowd. ‘What’ve they done?’
‘You don’t know?’ (He was getting thoroughly sick of hearing those words, but he put up with it.) ‘They’re the two imposters who’ve been going all round the place in that cart, pretending to be the god and his priestess, the bastards. Asking for trouble, that is; they ought to be ashamed of themselves. And cheating honest folk out of their money and food. It’s disgusting.’
Poldarn pursed his lips. ‘What happened?’ he said. ‘How did they catch them?’
The old woman grinned. ‘Got careless, didn’t they?’ she said. ‘Tried the same trick in the same village twice. Only someone noticed there was something odd the second time, like they hadn’t realised they’d been there before – well, a god’d know that sort of thing, wouldn’t he? – and there happened to be a squad of the Company men riding through, so the village people turned ’em over and the Company men brought them here. There’s a judge here, see, and a regular court, all legal and everything. And now they’ll be strung up, and good riddance. I did hear tell there was a reward on them, but nobody said anything about who’s paying it or why. Still, doesn’t matter, does it? Main thing is, they’re going to get what’s coming to them.’
By the time she’d finished saying that the cart was out of sight and the crowd was too thick to allow him to catch up and take another look at their faces. That was probably just as well.
He got back to the Falx house about mid-afternoon to find the place in more or less complete chaos. Two carts were jammed solid in the g
ateway; the hub of one cart’s offside front wheel was caught between the spokes of the other cart’s nearside back wheel, perfectly immobilising both carts, and there was so little space left between the pillars of the arch that the house carpenters couldn’t get in to cut them apart. Ignoring the protests of the carpenters, carters and sundry bystanders, Poldarn hopped up on to the boom of the outgoing cart, walked down it as far as the box, ducked under the arch and jumped off the tailgate at the other side. There was hardly enough room to jump down into; there was a line of a dozen carts wedged into the courtyard, so close that the tailgate of each one was pressing on the chests of the lead horses of the one behind. It might have been possible to clear the jam by backing the last cart in the line up into the coach-house, except that the coach-house doors opened outwards . . . On either side of the line waited men with barrows and handcarts, unable to cross from one side of the yard to the other.
Falx Roisin was standing on the box of one of the stuck carts, his hands clawing his hair. He gave the impression of having gone beyond the shouting stage and the all-right-let’s-figure-this-out-calmly stage and was most of the way through the prayer stage. Eolla was standing in the doorway of the main house, yelling unheeded directions at a group of men who were trying to do something complicated with ropes and scaffolding poles. (Later, Poldarn found out that he’d been told to set up an A-frame crane to try and lift out one of the carts, thereby freeing up the others; Falx Roisin had realised how incredibly stupid and dangerous this idea was about three minutes after giving the order and had countermanded it; the clerk given the task of calling it off had told the men assigned to winch duty, but had forgotten to tell Eolla and his men. Fortuitously, they didn’t even get as far as fetching the poles out of the store; otherwise, there could easily have been a nasty accident.)
Poldarn wriggled his way through the crowded yard and climbed up into the loft above the counting-house, where he had a good view of the whole thing. He lay there propped up on his elbows for half an hour, then went back down the stairs and pushed and clambered his way through to the cart Falx Roisin was standing on.
