by K. J. Parker
‘I can imagine that it would be,’ Poldarn replied. ‘And it sounds like you’re right about this Feron Amathy. God knows what he was doing in my dream, though.’
The sun was setting fast, and they were just coming under a thick patch of fog (or mist, or low cloud); the effect of the sunset through the mist was fine and slightly disturbing, like drops of blood falling in still, muddy water. Poldarn started to feel anxious, though he couldn’t think why.
It must have shown in his face, because the carter noticed it. ‘What are you getting all twitchy about?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘Is it trouble?’
‘I don’t know,’ Poldarn replied.
‘You bloody well ought to, you’re the one with the finely honed instincts you’re getting paid all that money for. Should we stop here, or go back, or what?’
‘I said, I don’t know,’ Poldarn said. ‘I can’t see anything that looks wrong. Mind you, I can’t really see anything at all. Maybe that’s all it is.’
‘You mean you’re afraid of the dark.’ The carter made a clicking noise with his teeth, one of his many annoying habits. ‘That’s not good enough, is it?’ he said reproachfully. ‘You’re supposed to be able to smell trouble before it happens, that’s what you’re here for. Well, is it trouble or isn’t it?’
‘I just told you, I don’t know,’ Poldarn said impatiently.
The carter stood up and pulled on the reins. ‘That’s it,’ he said, ‘I’m stopping right here. You can go on ahead and see what the matter is.’
Poldarn couldn’t help grinning. ‘What, and leave you here all alone and unprotected? That’s not what I’m paid for.’
‘Yes, but you’re the one carrying the bloody letter.’
‘Yes, but they don’t know that.’
‘Who doesn’t know that?’
‘Search me.’ Poldarn jumped down from the cart and pulled his hat out from under the cover. ‘I could do with stretching my legs, I suppose. You want my advice? If I were you, I’d get down off there, climb under the cart and keep still and quiet. That way, they’ll think you’ve gone off too.’
‘Who, for God’s sake?’
Poldarn shrugged. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Muttering hurtful things under his breath, the carter hopped down and vanished under the bed of the cart. ‘Don’t hang around,’ he hissed in a very loud whisper. ‘See what’s out there and come straight back, you hear me?’
‘Shh,’ Poldarn replied, and walked into the mist.
It was the very last of the sunset, the last glow of heat left in the cooling embers of the day, just enough orange and red light to see a few yards by until the glow rolled back on the wall of cloud. It wasn’t fear, Poldarn decided, more a sense of unease, as if he was missing something important, relevant and useful. He tripped over a stone and scampered a few steps before regaining his balance.
‘Hello?’ a man’s voice called out from somewhere in the cloud.
‘Hello yourself,’ Poldarn called back. ‘Where are you?’
‘Over here,’ the voice said, uselessly. ‘Can you help me? I think I’ve broken my leg.’
It was an interesting, attractive voice, high-pitched, full of character, the accent probably denoting high birth and refinement, though that was just a guess. ‘How did you manage that?’ Poldarn called back, straining to get a fix on where the voice was coming from.
‘Bloody pheasant got up right under my feet, startled my horse, the miserable thing threw me. I think I landed badly or something.’ Deliberate cheerfulness laid over repressed panic: either genuine or a good actor. Poldarn reassured himself that his sword was in his belt, and headed off the road towards where he reckoned the voice was coming from. When he figured he was close, he turned a right angle, walked fifteen paces, turned another right angle and hoped he hadn’t missed his mark. The idea, of course, was to come up behind whoever it was, in case it was an ambush, but if he’d got it wrong he could find himself in even worse trouble than if he hadn’t bothered at all.
But he was vindicated, eventually; in front of him he could make out the shape of a man, sitting with his back to him, his legs spread out in a thoroughly uncomfortable-looking position that couldn’t have been voluntary. A few steps closer and he could just see a horse grazing a few yards further on. So far, so good. He waited, wondering where all these instincts had come from, looking and listening for anything that might suggest that he and the man with the broken leg weren’t the only people there. When he was as near satisfied as he could reasonably expect, he closed in a step or two, keeping the trunk of a tall, thin tree between himself and the man (so he’d be able to see the man’s face while remaining hidden himself), and cleared his throat.
The other man started, did something unfortunate to his leg, and yelped with pain. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said, twisting his head round, ‘where did you come from?’
‘I was talking to you just now,’ Poldarn said.
‘Yes, but you were – oh, I see. Cautious beggar, aren’t you? Come over here, where I can see you.’
Poldarn took another look round the tree. The man was older than he’d thought, middle to late forties by the grey hair over his ears; strikingly good-looking all the same, in a boyish kind of way, with sharp, distinct features and large brown eyes. He was also liberally splattered with mud. He looked harmless enough, and Poldarn was fairly sure he was alone, so he came out from behind the tree and moved forward.
‘Oh bloody hell,’ the stranger said, staring at him, his face changing completely. ‘For pity’s sake, what are you doing here? Are you out of your mind, or what?’
On balance, Poldarn decided, he’d have preferred it if the man had jumped up and pulled a knife. He was surprised by his own reaction. What he really wanted to do was turn around and walk away, and he couldn’t quite understand why, but the urge was so strong he found it hard to resist.
‘You know me,’ he said.
‘I thought I did,’ the stranger replied. ‘I mean, I’m used to you pulling some bloody stupid stunts but this is going too far, even by your standards. Have you got the faintest idea what they’ll do to me if we’re seen together? If you’ve got a death-wish, that’s absolutely fine. Just leave me out of it. I’m sick and tired of rescuing you every time you get it into your head to do something crazy.’
‘No, really,’ Poldarn said (and he felt like there was an enormous weight on his chest, so heavy he could hardly breathe). ‘You don’t understand.’
The stranger was looking round. ‘This is the last time, got it?’ he said angrily. ‘Absolutely the last time. For God’s sake, anybody with half a brain would’ve taken the hint by now. I don’t know,’ he went on, shaking his head eloquently, ‘somebody up there must hate me. It all goes round and round, like a windmill. First I’m in the shit up to my elbows, under guard, on my way to Torcea for a long chat with my dear cousin. Then suddenly it all gets better; a little money changes hands, I give them the slip and I’m on my way home; then the bloody pheasant, and I’m lying there in a heap with a bust leg. And if that wasn’t enough, you have to show up.’ A thought seemed to occur to him. ‘Big coincidence, that,’ he added, ‘though I suppose even you couldn’t have arranged the pheasant. No, I’m probably just being paranoid, though where you’re concerned, normal criteria don’t seem to apply, for some reason. What she sees in you, I have no idea.’ He rubbed his chin, thinking something over, and appeared to reach a decision. ‘Look, I can get you past the soldiers, so long as you keep your face shut; that’s assuming none of them know you by sight, but we may just get lucky. You’re alone?’
‘No,’ Poldarn said. Simply keeping still was an almost unbearable effort; he’d just realised exactly how frightened he was. Up till then he’d been too preoccupied to notice. But the fear was there, no doubt about it, just starting to well up and flow (it’s the same way with a deep cut: there’s a second or so after the impact when the flesh is numb and nothing seems to be happening;
then the bleeding starts, and suddenly you get a much clearer idea of where your priorities lie).
Let’s get out of this alive first, Poldarn decided. The other stuff can wait. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I’m only a delivery man, we’re taking a load of stuff to the city.’ (Of course, he could just leave the man lying and walk away, as his instincts urged him to. That would be the simplest thing, and the safest, if there was danger. A sensible man would do that, without hesitation. But that begged the question of who was supposed to be being rescued, and there appeared to be some doubt on that score.) ‘Can you please tell me what this is all about?’
‘Oh, give it a rest, can’t you?’ The stranger stared at him as if he was mad. ‘I’ve had it with you,’ he said. ‘God only knows what possessed me to get mixed up with a lunatic like you in the first place. If it was just me, I’d have the soldiers kill you now, tell them you’re a footpad or something, simply to be shot of you.’ He sighed. ‘Still, can’t really do that, she’d never forgive me. All right; now keep quiet and I’ll get us out of this, somehow. Who’s the man with you?’
Poldarn shrugged. ‘He’s a carter, from the Falx house. His name’s Gotto. That’s all I know about him.’
‘The Falx house.’ The stranger closed his eyes. ‘Oh, it just gets better and better. Can’t you simply cut his throat and dump him somewhere? No, forget it, that’d be too risky, Falx Roisin would be bound to figure out what’s going on.’
Poldarn doubted that, from what he’d seen of his employer, but then what did he know about anything?
‘You’re sure he doesn’t know who you are?’ the stranger went on. ‘Hey, did I just say something funny?’
Poldarn shook his head. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘If you’d just listen—’
‘Oh no. I listened to you the last time, and now look at me. Did you say you’ve got a cart?’
‘Yes.’
The stranger frowned. ‘Not so bad, after all. You know, maybe there’s actually a way out of this. If we could only slide past the soldiers without them seeing me – you know, that could work out rather well. You’re still a dangerous lunatic who ought to be put down, but we might just get away with it. You’re sure the carter doesn’t know?’ He lifted his head sharply. ‘Shut up,’ he whispered, ‘someone’s coming. Sorry,’ he continued, his voice changing effortlessly back to the charming drawl he’d used earlier, ‘that’s not a very friendly way to say hello to your saviour. Please forgive me; I’m not used to misfortune, it makes me edgy.’
Poldarn glanced round, and saw that the carter was peering at them from behind a tree. He hadn’t heard him approaching, so either bewilderment was turning him deaf or the stranger had exceptional hearing.
‘Who’s this?’ the carter asked. He wasn’t quite close enough to see the stranger’s face; he was holding off, just out of range, like a canny rook circling a feed trough.
‘Fell off my horse,’ the stranger said, ‘and broke my stupid leg. I was wondering, do you think you could possibly give me a lift as far as Mael? If you’re headed that way, that is.’
The carter came out from behind his tree, radiating curiosity like a watchman’s brazier. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said. ‘We’re not supposed—’
‘Of course,’ the stranger said, ‘I can make it worth your while.’
The carter stopped dead in his tracks. ‘I don’t know,’ he repeated. ‘Got my job to think about.’
‘It’d be no fun at all riding all that way with a broken leg,’ Poldarn said, mostly just to break the silence before it choked him. ‘I suppose you’d better hitch a ride with us.’
The man’s face was a study in relief. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said.
Poldarn shrugged. ‘We’re headed that way anyway,’ he said, walking round the back of him so the man couldn’t turn and look at his face without hurting himself badly. He wondered if he was doing the right thing, but he simply didn’t have enough facts to go on. Soldiers, the stranger had said, and a lot of stuff about danger and risk. For his part, Poldarn decided, he mostly wished he was somewhere else. Here was the past come to visit, like one’s least favourite relatives calling unannounced at the worst possible time. He envied the stranger the fluency with which he’d changed faces, and wondered if it was something that could be acquired with practice, like skill at arms, or whether you had to be born with it, like being able to divine water with a twig or read minds. He wished he could do something like that; walk over the top of complexity, like a fly skittering across a pool.
He reached down and pulled the stranger up by the hand on to his good leg and caught him before he could topple over. He put his shoulder under the man’s arm. ‘Nice and steady,’ he said. ‘It’s not far to the cart. Here, Gotto, give me a hand.’
The mist cleared as soon as they got down off the high ground, but it was dark and the road was rutted and soft, and the carter’s temper wasn’t improving. ‘The hell with this,’ he said, after a jolt nearly broke the axle and made the stranger yelp with pain. ‘I say we stop here for the night. It’s at least two more hours to Vauc Dosime, and I’ve had enough.’
There didn’t seem to be much point in arguing, although, as Poldarn pointed out (just to be difficult), they didn’t have any food with them, and nothing to build a fire with. The carter didn’t bother to reply, so presumably he didn’t think much of either argument. Poldarn could also have pointed out that there was only one blanket, namely the one the carter was sitting on, but he felt that that could lead to unpleasantness and bad feeling, so he let the matter slide. There was always the cart cover (though it still had about half a gallon of water collected in its folds after the late afternoon rain) and his coat; on the other hand, he felt obliged to offer that to the stranger.
‘No, it’s all right, really,’ the stranger replied. ‘I’ve caused you enough trouble as it is.’
Poldarn shook his head. ‘Take the damn coat,’ he said.
The stranger grinned and accepted. ‘If you’re sure,’ he replied.
‘I offered, didn’t I?’ He fished in his satchel for the small flask of strong spirits that Eolla had advised him never to travel without and offered it to the stranger. As he did so he caught sight of the carter looking sideways at them both. He felt painfully exposed; the silence was unnatural, not appropriate for a rescue, a good deed. Some small talk was called for.
‘Have you got friends in Mael who’ll look after you?’ he asked.
‘No; but it’s all right, my—’ The stranger paused, searching for the right word. ‘The people I’m with have an office there, lodgings for couriers and travellers, that sort of thing. I’ll be all right.’
‘Sounds like a fairly big concern,’ Poldarn said. ‘Mercantile? Banking?’
‘That sort of thing,’ the man replied calmly. ‘How about you?’
‘We’re in the dried fish and sausage business,’ Poldarn said. ‘Just our luck that we get held up on the way there, of course. If we were on the way home, we’d be fully loaded with dried tuna and blood sausage, not to mention a couple of jars of Mael beer.’
‘Just my luck,’ the stranger said, ‘I missed a treat. But there you go, you don’t always make your own luck.’
‘I suppose not,’ Poldarn said. ‘Well, get some sleep if you can. We’re going to have to try to make up time tomorrow, so it won’t be very comfortable.’
Judging by the sound of his breathing, the stranger had no trouble at all getting to sleep; remarkable, if there was any truth in what he’d said about the danger they were both in. Poldarn, on the other hand, was wide awake. He pulled his collar up around his chin and drew his sleeves down as far as they’d go, but it didn’t help much. It was a cold night, even if it wasn’t raining, and there seemed to be rather more of it than was actually necessary.
About three hours before dawn, by Poldarn’s reckoning, he was startled out of a train of thought concerning his unusually broad knowledge of languages and dialects and the implications that went with it by
what he thought might have been the sound of someone coughing quite some way away in the direction they’d come from. He listened carefully for a while, but there was nothing else to hear, and it could just as easily have been a fox as a human. Nevertheless he sat up enough so that he could get to his sword if he had to. Perversely, he was now starting to feel drowsy; although he couldn’t see the back of his own hand, he knew that if he closed his eyes, even for a moment, he’d be fast asleep in no time. He lifted and shook his head; that helped, though only for a short while.
He’d come to the conclusion that it was all his imagination, egged on by Falx Roisin’s colourful account of what had happened to his predecessors, combined with the stranger’s dark mutterings about soldiers (whom they were supposed to be slipping past without being seen, with the implication that their lives depended on it), when he heard what was without doubt the sound of two pieces of metal grating together, as it might be the rim of a shield against a tasset or a sword chape against a greave. He caught his breath and dug his elbow into the carter’s back.
‘Wake up,’ he hissed.
‘Piss off,’ the carter mumbled.
He dug rather harder this time, and the carter sat up with a shudder. ‘What the bloody—?’
‘Quiet.’ There must have been something in his voice that impressed the carter, who did as he was told for the first time since they’d started working together. ‘There’s someone coming.’
‘So what?’ the carter muttered. ‘It’s a road. You get people on roads, it’s life.’
‘Shh.’ This time, it was a creak; a stiff boot, perhaps, or shifting weight on a belt. The carter heard it too; Poldarn could feel the cart move slightly as he jumped in his seat and started rummaging on the floor for the sack he kept his sword in. That gave him an idea. As quietly as he could, so the carter wouldn’t know he’d gone, he slipped over the side of the cart and dropped to the ground, reaching out with his toes to ease himself down. On the sides of his feet (the quietest way; how come he knew that?) he walked round to where he figured the tailgate must be, feeling his way with the back of his outstretched left hand, then stopped and worked out a mental diagram, marking the strategic points and relevant distances. He’d almost completed this task when he remembered the stranger’s horse, which for some reason the carter had tethered separately from their own, behind the cart. He added it to the schematic in his mind, just in case it proved important later.