Memory (Scavenger Trilogy Book 3)

by K. J. Parker

  ‘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.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Hello, Earwig,’ Cleapho said. ‘Long time, no see.’

  Monach lifted his head. He could still see –just about – out of his left eye. His right didn’t seem to want to open any more.

  ‘Cordo,’ he said. His voice sounded dreadful. ‘What’re you doing here?’

  Cleapho laughed. ‘I won,’ he said. ‘The battle. Come on, you must remember the battle. Or have you lost your memory, like Ciartan?’

  That didn’t strike Monach as particularly funny, but Cleapho laughed noisily. ‘What happened?’ Monach said. ‘Last thing I remember—’ He paused; he wasn’t sure what the last thing he remembered was. ‘The Flutes,’ he said. ‘They failed—’

  Cleapho was nodding sagely. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘They were supposed to. It’s called sabotage, though that’s rather a feeble term for such an intricate exercise.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘You must’ve been quite close to one of them,’ he said. ‘The doctors tell me it’s a miracle you’re still alive.’

  Monach could remember the heat of the air as it hit him in the face like a hammer.

  ‘Ironic, really,’ Cleapho went on. ‘No, don’t try to move,’ he added, as Monach made an effort to sit up. ‘You’ll only start the bleeding off again.’

  Monach hadn’t taken any interest in his surroundings, his entire attention having been focused on Cordo, his old friend. ‘I’m on a ship,’ he said in surprise.

  ‘That’s right,’ Cleapho said. ‘You’re being taken to Torcea. We should be there in a couple of hours. You’ve been asleep for a very long time.’

  Other things were claiming Monach’s attention now – pain most of all. He hurt all over. ‘How bad is it?’ he asked, as calmly as he could.

  ‘Pretty bad,’ Cleapho replied. ‘You’re still basically in one piece— Your left leg’s a jigsaw puzzle and I think you lost a couple of fingers on your left hand, but that’s all. Your right eye’s pretty comprehensively wrecked, you lost all the skin off your face and arms, and you’ve got a lot of internal damage: broken ribs, that sort of thing.’

  Monach was surprised at how calm he felt. ‘Am I going to make it?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, now.’ Cleapho almost smiled. ‘We’re all going to die sooner or later. But as far as the sawbones can make out, none of it’s what they call life-threatening. Are you in a lot of pain?’ Monach was about to say ‘No, I’m fine,’ but this was Cordo he was talking to. ‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘everything hurts like hell.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Cleapho replied; and Monach remembered. Sabotage.

  ‘The Flutes were supposed to fail?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s right,’ Cleapho told him, holding a tin cup of water so he could drink from it. ‘That was Spenno, doing his bit for religion. He was a better man than any of us thought, I guess. It helped that the man the government sent – Galand something – was a buffoon, and knew it too; when Spenno told him he was wrong, he believed it. So Spenno was able to make the Flutes so that they’d fail.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Dangerous things,’ he said. ‘Rather too powerful for my liking. It simply wouldn’t do, politically and strategically, for Tazencius to get his hands on weapons that’d make him immune from attacks by the raiders – or anybody else, for that matter. Stealing or destroying the ones they were making at Dui Chirra wasn’t enough, you see; they’d only have set up a foundry somewhere else and made some more. But now the whole idea’s discredited, at least for my lifetime, which is all that matters. For what it’s worth, it’s very old knowledge – as you’d know, if you ever read books. They were invented in Morevich five hundred years ago, hence the name, but when Morevich was added to the Empire, we carefully disposed of all records of them; now they only exist in folk tales, as an attribute of the Divine Poldarn.’

  Monach stared a him for a moment. ‘But that doesn’t make any sense,’ he said, finding it hard to think past the headache that was tightening round his temples like a snare. ‘I thought it was my job to capture them. For us.’

  Cleapho smiled gen
tly. ‘It was,’ he said. ‘And you did it very well. I have to confess, I’ve underestimated you too. I’m afraid I kept thinking of you as you were at school – born follower, not much use without someone telling you what to do. But you coped very well on your own, when it came to it. Almost too well.’ He laughed again, though Monach still couldn’t see the joke.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Monach said.

  Cleapho was getting up. ‘Maybe that’s enough for now,’ he said. ‘You’re still very weak, I ought to let you get some rest.’

  ‘No, please.’ Monach tried to move, but his legs, and arms, wouldn’t obey. At first he assumed it was his injuries, but then he realised he was tied down to the bed.

  ‘Well,’ Cleapho relented, ‘since it’s all as broad as it’s long, I might as well tell you now as later. Yes, you were meant to capture Dui Chirra for us. That was the whole point, of all of it. You see, I had plenty of notice of this Poldarn’s Flute project; it was practically the first thing Tazencius did when he became Emperor. He’s terrified of the raiders, you see; what with them being his former allies – really, Earwig, you didn’t know? Good heavens. Yes, he was the one who made contact with them in the beginning, through Ciartan; his idea was to get them to step up their attacks, start annihilating whole cities, so that the Empire would become ungovernable and he’d have his chance at grabbing the throne.’ He sighed. ‘But then Ciartan double-crossed him, all of us in fact, and ever since he’s been scared sick of what’d happen when he finally became Emperor and Ciartan, or—’ Cleapho smiled ‘—or Feron Amathy used the same tactic against him in turn. He used the raiders as a weapon, if you like, and then he desperately needed something that’d protect him against that weapon in someone else’s hands. Hence the Flute project. Which, of course,’ he added, ‘I couldn’t possibly allow. Which is where you came in,’ he continued, ‘among others.’

  ‘Me,’ Monach said.

  ‘You and Xipho,’ Cleapho replied. ‘She knew the purpose behind it – part of it, anyhow; I’m afraid we decided against telling you. That was probably wrong, I don’t know. Anyway, Xipho raised that funny little army of yours, and you took it to Dui Chirra and did the rest. Thank you,’ he added.

  ‘My pleasure,’ Monach said. ‘But if you didn’t actually want to get hold of the Flutes for yourself—’

  ‘Well, of course I didn’t,’ Cleapho said indulgently. ‘Don’t get me wrong, they’re fine weapons. But how many of them did you finally manage to get made? Half a dozen? We’d have needed hundreds to be any use against any sort of large army. Far better to get shot of them for good – and do useful work at the same time, as an added bonus.’

  Monach closed his good eye. ‘I don’t follow,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you? Then maybe I was right after all. Your part in the adventure was a bit like Tazencius and the raiders – I’m not too proud to learn from the enemy, you see. I needed the Flutes to fail. I also needed an enemy to overcome, a terrible threat to save the Empire from. That’s why I created you: the Mad Monk. You were a bit out of the loop down there in Tulice, but in the city you’re very famous. People have been terrified to death of you, ever since we told them about you. We exaggerated, of course; to hear us talk, you had hundreds of thousands of fanatical supporters, all the malcontents and criminals and crazies in the south. And then when you got hold of Tazencius’s secret weapon, the dreaded Poldarn’s Flutes . . . I wish you could’ve seen the riots in the streets, Earwig. I nearly injured myself laughing, listening to them howling curses on the most evil man in the Empire, and knowing all along it was just you.’

  And that, Monach realised, would explain why I’m tied to the bed. ‘I see,’ he said quietly.

  ‘And now you’ve been defeated, and the weapons have been proved to be useless; and it was me who defeated you and saved the Empire, while Tazencius’s Flutes have been turned against him, far more effectively than if we’d lugged them into the Square and pointed them at the palace gates. First, people were furious at him for letting those hell-burners fall into the hands of our most dangerous enemy– that’s you, I’m afraid; and now they’re even more angry at him because the things were never going to work after all. His days are numbered, Earwig, and to a certain extent we’ve got you to thank. Well, you and Xipho. I think you can reassure yourself that you’ve done your whack for religion. Father Tutor would’ve been proud, rest his soul.’

  Monach didn’t say anything for a moment. Then: ‘You killed him, didn’t you?’

  ‘Not me personally,’ Cleapho replied. ‘I didn’t kill Elaos Tanwar either. I liked them both,’ he added, ‘a lot. And Xipho, and you too. Not Ciartan, though. I was never comfortable around him.’

  Monach couldn’t look at him. ‘I’m going to die, then?’ he said.

  Cleapho sighed. ‘I’m afraid so, Earwig. You and Xipho too – after all, she’s the Mad Monk’s priestess and what have you, so she’s got to go as well. She took it well,’ he added, ‘as I’d have expected of her. I’m proud of her. I hope I’ll be able to be proud of you, too.’

  There had been many times when Monach had known he was probably going to die; but this was the first time he’d known it for a certainty. The ropes, and the pain all over his body, confirmed it absolutely. ‘This is for religion, then,’ he said.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Fine. Am I allowed to know how it helps?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Cleapho replied. ‘Just have faith.’

  ‘Like Xipho?’

  Cleapho shook his head sadly. ‘I’ve always envied Xipho her faith,’ he said. ‘I guess it’s because she was the only one of our little gang who never actually managed to achieve a moment of religion, not in the draw, like you’re supposed to. Yes, she was as fast as any of us, but it was just good reactions and coordination – she never made the moment go away. I think that’s why she believes; the rest of us got there and realised it was no big deal. I’ve always assumed your faith was rather more intellectual, what with you being the only other one of us to carry on in the Order after graduation. You must’ve seen past the mysticism and so forth quite early.’

  ‘Must I?’ Monach said quietly. ‘I don’t remember that.’

  ‘Oh.’ Cleapho frowned. ‘Oh, I see. I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t – disillusioned you. That’d be a rotten trick to play on a man who’s about to—’

  But Monach shook his head. ‘You couldn’t,’ he said. ‘You see, I believe because I’ve seen. Because I once drew against a god. And I know it’s real, because of that.’

  Cleapho couldn’t hide the grin. ‘A god? Good heavens, Earwig, how fascinating. You never mentioned it to us.’

  ‘I didn’t know at the time.’ He paused; something had just struck him. ‘You still don’t know, do you?’

  ‘What’s so funny, Earwig? I mean, I’m delighted that you can laugh at a time like this—’

  Monach was grinning now, and Cleapho wasn’t. ‘Ciartan,’ he said. ‘Ciartan really is the god in the cart, Poldarn, whatever his name is. You see, I found out all about him – when Father Tutor sent me to investigate, and then afterwards, after Deymeson was destroyed and I was finally able to get at the truth that the Order’s been suppressing all these years. Everything that Poldarn’s supposed to do, Ciartan’s done. It really is him, Cordo; and that means religion really is true. All of it.’

  Cleapho shook his head. ‘Everything except destroy the world,’ he said gently. ‘He hasn’t done that, has he?’

  ‘Yes,’ Monach replied. ‘He must have – it just hasn’t taken effect yet.’

  ‘That’s easy to say,’ Cleapho replied, rather less gently. ‘I’m glad you have your faith, Earwig. I’m glad I haven’t taken that away from you, too.’

  ‘I saw it,’ Monach insisted. ‘There was a moment – when we fought, in the year-end. We both drew at the same time—’

  —Because at that moment in time there’s only been enough room in the world for one of them, and yet both of them had still been there, illegally
sharing it, like a shadow or a mirror image being soaked up into the body that cast it; two circles superimposed, becoming one—

  —Which wasn’t supposed to happen. And if it did – nobody had known the details, at the time, but it was widely supposed to mean that something really bad was on the way: the end of the world, Poldarn’s second coming—)

  ‘It’s true,’ Monach said, relaxing back onto the hard ropes of the bed. ‘Ever since then, Ciartan and me, we’ve really been one person, or one man and his shadow, something like that. Which means,’ he added, as his head began to swim, ‘that— Did you say we’re going to Torcea?’

  ‘Yes. So what?’

  Monach smiled. ‘Then it’s happening after all,’ he said. ‘Like in the prophecies and everything. I’m bringing the end of the world to Torcea. I’m bringing you.’

  Cleapho sighed. ‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Earwig, and I’m grateful, too. And I’m glad if you’re – well, resigned, or content, thanks to your faith—’

  ‘Happy,’ Monach said. ‘Not resigned or content. Happy.’

  Tazencius had changed little since the day Poldarn had first met him, on the road in the Bohec valley: an injured stranger he’d stopped to help, back when he’d been a courier for the Falx house. Tazencius still looked young for his age, distinguished without being intimidating, a pleasant man who turned out to be a prince, and was now the Emperor.

  ‘Hello, Daddy,’ she’d said, trotting up to him and giving him a peck on the cheek, as though she’d just come in from riding her new pony in the park. He smiled at her, then turned to look at Poldarn.

  ‘Hello,’ Tazencius said. ‘I must say, I never expected to see you again. I heard you went away.’

  Poldarn shrugged. ‘I did,’ he said. ‘But I came back.’

  ‘Evidently.’ Tazencius sighed and sat down on a straight-backed wooden chair next to the fire. He’d been limping – the first time Poldarn had come across him, he’d broken his leg. ‘Here you are again, and I suppose we’ve got to make the best of it.’