Pattern (Scavenger Trilogy Book 2)

by K. J. Parker

  Poldarn shook his head. ‘Bits and pieces, but nothing connected. I can remember a few things I did as a boy – scaring birds in the fields, a trip I took with my grandfather, stuff like that. A few names and faces. No rhyme or reason to any of it, as far as I can make out.’

  Leith nodded slowly. ‘Didn’t I hear somewhere that Halder had passed on?’

  The euphemism sounded forced and awkward; Poldarn had got used to people saying things straight out. ‘He died a few weeks back, yes,’ he said. ‘That’s why we’ve moved house, of course.’

  ‘Yes, of course, it stands to reason. I’m very sorry to hear that; he was a good man, for an old-timer.’ That didn’t sound right, either. ‘So, did he tell you much about the old days?’

  Poldarn shook his head. ‘Not a great deal, he didn’t seem very comfortable with the subject. Anyway, we didn’t talk much.’

  ‘Right.’ Leith seemed rather uncomfortable, like a man sitting in a wet ditch. ‘Well, that’s a pity. And old Scaptey, the field hand; didn’t somebody tell me he bought the farm last raiding season? Killed in a battle or something.’

  ‘So I gather.’

  ‘Really,’ Leith said, ‘Scaptey too. I’ve known him since I was a little kid. You remember my brother Brin?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ah. Well, he’s dead too. We all used to go around together all the time, when we were young. Looks like there’s just you and me left, out of the old gang. And you can’t remember anything about it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There’s a thought,’ Leith muttered. ‘So really it’s just me, carrying round all those memories. I guess when I’m gone, it’ll all be like it never happened. Not that it matters a damn,’ he added. ‘It’s not as if we did anything much. Just a bunch of kids, really.’

  Poldarn looked at him carefully. You came all this way just to tell me that, he thought, you must have way too much time on your hands. ‘How are things out your way?’ he asked. ‘With the mountain blowing up, and everything?’

  ‘Oh, could have been worse,’ Leith replied, his attention clearly elsewhere. ‘Could have been a lot worse. Trap-house caught fire, but no great loss. We had that filthy black ash over everything for a while, but the rain washed it all off, down into the valley. Buggered up all the fish-weirs, of course, but like I said, it could’ve been a whole lot worse. You seem to have got away with it all right out this way.’

  ‘By and large,’ Poldarn replied. ‘Not like those poor devils at Lyatsbridge. They had it pretty rough, by all accounts.’

  ‘Bloody tragedy,’ Leith said blandly. ‘Last I heard, they were packing up and moving on. We thought about it ourselves, to be honest with you, but we reckoned that on balance we might as well stay put, for now. No, it could have been a damn sight worse. A month later, and it’d have killed our crop stone dead in the ground.’

  This was all very well, but hardly worth several days’ gruelling ride. ‘So,’ Poldarn said, ‘you mentioned there were some things I ought to know about.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Leith said slowly. ‘So, you’re settling in here again, after being away so long. Making yourself at home, so to speak.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Poldarn said. ‘I suppose you could put it that way. At least, I’ve built this house, as you can see. I don’t actually know why I needed to build a whole new house when the old one was perfectly good enough, but they told me I had to, so I did.’

  ‘Nice place.’

  ‘Thank you. I don’t think it’s so bad, for a first attempt. And what else? Oh yes, I got married.’

  Leith looked up. ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘That was another thing they told me I had to do. But it could have been worse, as you’d say. I reckon I’ve been very lucky there, as it happens.’

  Leith forced a smile. ‘Well, there’s something,’ he said. ‘You married. That’s like the old story about the wolf who became a sheepdog. Still, at our age you’ve got to settle down, haven’t you?’

  ‘Apparently,’ Poldarn replied.

  ‘And you’ve found yourself a nice little girl,’ Leith went on. ‘Well, you would, wouldn’t you?’

  Poldarn nodded. ‘Colsceg’s daughter. You know her?’

  ‘No.’ Leith looked away. His hands were spread out flat on the table, palms down, fingers splayed out wide. ‘Since my time. Anyhow, that’s only one of the places we went. I never liked it much out that way, anyhow. Bleak old place in winter, Colscegsford.’ He stood up. ‘I think it’s about time I was hitting the road,’ he said. ‘If I start straight away I can make Elletswater by dark.’

  ‘What was it you came here to tell me?’ Poldarn asked.

  ‘Look.’ There was a suggestion of panic in Leith’s voice. ‘If it’s stuff only you and me would know about, and you’ve forgotten it anyway, who the hell cares any more? Besides, we’re different people now. Married, with responsibilities, we can’t go dwelling on the past. Take me, for instance, I’m nothing like I used to be. If I caught my eldest boy doing some of the stuff I used to get up to at his age, I’d skin him alive. People change, it’s part of life; but if you’re going to change, you’ve got to get rid of some bits of the past, break the old habits, get out of the patterns, that kind of thing. Like, if you and I were meeting now for the first time ever – well, I guess that’s what we are doing, far as you’re concerned – I mean to say, would we be best friends now? ’Course not, we’ve grown apart, nothing in common except the obvious stuff – the farm and the weather and running a house. Do you really want to hear a lot of things about someone who’s nothing but a stranger to you now? That’s me – and you, of course, you as well.’ Leith shook his head. ‘I’ll bet you anything you like, if it was the old you, like you were when we were kids, the old you stood here instead of me – do you think you’d recognise him, or have anything in common with him? I don’t think so. You probably wouldn’t like him, even. So why burden yourself with stuff that a perfect stranger did, twenty years ago? Makes no sense. I’m the only one who remembers now, and I won’t tell anybody, for sure. So; it never happened. It’s like a log of wood you put on the fire, it burns up and it’s gone for ever.’

  Or a book, Poldarn thought, the last copy of a book in a big old library; and I can remember burning the library down, but God only knows what was in the books. ‘Looks like you’ve had a pretty pointless journey, then,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ Leith replied. ‘Doesn’t bother me. And it’s done me a favour, when you think about it. Like, there’s only so much room in a man’s head for memories. Means I can clear out a lot of old stuff I won’t ever need again. So that’s that, then. And remember, if ever you’re out our way, make sure to drop by. Always glad to see you, any time.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Poldarn said. ‘And if ever you get one of those sudden urges to dash off somewhere a long way away for a bowl of porridge and a quick chat about the weather . . . you know where we are.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Leith said. ‘Though I don’t get out much as a rule these days, I don’t go raiding or stuff like that. I’m very quiet these days. It’s better that way.’

  ‘I think so too,’ Poldarn said. ‘There’s always so much work that needs doing, for one thing. Some days, I hardly know what to do with myself.’

  ‘Oh, same here,’ Leith said emphatically. ‘If it’s not one thing it’s another. Anyhow, take care, and my regards to your wife. I’d have brought her some flowers or a bottle of wine, only I left in such a hurry.’

  ‘Of course. And besides, I only just told you I’m married.’

  ‘Yes.’ Leith took a step backwards. ‘I really had better be going,’ he said, ‘it’s a long way. We’ll see each other again, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘It’s a small world,’ Poldarn replied.

  When Leith had gone, chivvying his horse into a canter as soon as he was out of the yard, Poldarn went and found Raffen, who was splitting kindling.

  ‘Who was that?’ he asked.

  Raffe
n put down the hatchet and looked up. ‘How do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘That man who was here just now. You told me you knew him.’

  ‘Of course I know him. Him and his brother, they lived here for years, when you and he were kids. You two went everywhere together.’

  ‘So you said. But I don’t remember, and he wouldn’t tell me anything. In fact, he was acting like he was crazy or something. What else do you know about him?’

  Raffen shrugged. ‘Not a great deal,’ he said. ‘Really, you want to ask Colsceg, not me.’

  ‘Colsceg.’

  ‘That’s right. They’re related.’

  ‘Oh.’ Poldarn frowned. ‘He didn’t say anything about that.’

  ‘Probably thought you already knew.’ Raffen put a piece of wood on the chopping block and tapped it smartly with the hatchet, dividing it neatly into two. ‘His uncle married Colsceg’s sister, but she died young. And Colsceg married his other uncle’s sister, that’s his uncle on his father’s side, of course. That was his first wife, Barn’s mother. She died young, too, when she had Egil. Then Colsceg married Sterley’s eldest daughter – Sterley was Leith’s mother’s brother, or at least properly speaking he was her half-brother, because their mother was married twice, once up north, which is where Sterley came from, and then again when she moved back here. There was some sort of trouble with a stranger, apparently, and she left her husband up there. Anyway, her second husband was Halder’s uncle Crim; so when they both died, Leith and his brother – what was his name, now?’

  ‘Brin,’ Poldarn said.

  ‘That’s right, Brin. And there was an older sister, too – Essel, she married Suart, Lyat’s dad, back when they lived at Suartsdale. I think she stayed there when Lyat moved on to Lyatsbridge. Leith and Brin, they came over here to live, till their dad died and it was time for them to go back and build their house. So you see, they’re all family, one way or another.’

  ‘I see,’ Poldarn said. ‘Well, I think I’ll go and do some work. Is there any work I can be doing?’

  Raffen frowned; then his face relaxed into a grin. ‘So happens there is,’ he said. ‘Just the job for you, if you feel like it. You know the three-cornered field just below the old house, where we put in the peas, just before we left there?’

  ‘Of course I do, I live here. What about it?’

  ‘Bloody crows are tearing it all to pieces,’ Raffen said, with a touch of anger he couldn’t help. ‘I was going to go up there later on and put up some bells, but that won’t do any good. Waste of time, soon as my back’s turned they’ll be in there again. Where’s the point of planting stuff if those bastards pull it all up, anyway?’

  ‘I can see that,’ Poldarn replied. ‘And I used to be good at scaring birds, when I was a kid. Isn’t that right?’

  Raffen nodded eagerly. ‘You really took to it,’ he said. ‘Made a good job, too. It isn’t as easy as it looks, you know.’

  ‘Then maybe it’ll come back to me,’ Poldarn replied. ‘It’d be nice to find something I’m actually good at around here, even if it’s just clapping my hands and shouting.’

  Raffen pulled a face. ‘There’s a bit more to it than that,’ he said. ‘Just scaring the buggers off won’t do any good. You’ve got to sort ’em out, once and for all.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Poldarn said.

  The three-cornered field lay under a long, low, crescent-shaped hill topped with a knot of spindly fir trees. Along the western edge ran a ditch backed by an overgrown thorn hedge, with a thick mass of nettles and cow-parsley on the field side. The other two boundaries were open, marked only by a low drystone wall on the side facing the house, and a hump on the southern side where a bank had been grubbed out at some point, twenty or thirty years ago.

  When Poldarn arrived, carrying a billhook, a leather bottle of weak cider and an old wooden bucket, the field was black with crows. They didn’t get up as soon as he came into view, which annoyed him rather. About a third of them spread their wings and lifted off the ground in a spiral, the way dust blows up in a high wind; they swirled round in a tight circle and pitched a little further up the field, in good order. He stopped and studied them for a moment – careful reconnaissance is never wasted – taking note of the patterns they made on the ground, the way they aligned themselves to the wind, their spacing, the distances between groups, the gaps they left so that newcomers could pitch without overflying a contingent and spooking them into the air. Observing them, he couldn’t help being impressed at the perfection of their society – their orderly conduct, unselfishness, consideration for others, flawless cooperation, unblemished unity of purpose. Against the grey of the turned soil they stood out like the shadow of a low cloud on a bright day, or the black ash that the volcano had dumped there, not so long ago.

  Poldarn knew or remembered enough to keep perfectly still; but as the sun moved through the scattered clouds, the light changed, brightening up enough to flash a slight reflection off his pale face. At once, four or five crows got up from the edges and wheeled over him, slow, high and screaming; he froze, but they were aware of him now, and the whole flock lifted in a jarring explosion of harsh voices – you didn’t need to know their language to get the gist of what they were saying. For a few heartbeats they hung in the air like smoke on a calm day; then they began to swirl and circle, winding broad, lazy hoops of concerted movement, boldly overstated brush strokes against the grey sky.

  Poldarn had been expecting that, relying on it. On his way he’d picked up half a bucketful of flints from the headlands of the neighbouring fields, where generations of field hands had tossed them as they’d harrowed and mashed the clods. As the flock billowed over his head – they always made this mistake, just once, it was almost an arrogantly chivalrous gesture, allowing him one clear chance to take a few easy shots, satisfy his honour – he stooped down, grabbed a flint from the bucket, marked a point in the sky where the press of bodies was so thick he couldn’t miss, and let fly. The first stone somehow managed to thread a way through the crowd without hitting anything, but the next five stones knocked down four birds – one dead in the air, two with broken wings landing indignant but in good order, and one pitching messily on its back, skipping and hopping in a dance of murderous rage until Poldarn got his foot behind its head and crushed it into the hard soil. The two broken-winged runners were harder to catch, they waddled with furious determination towards the hedge side, jinking and tacking out of the way every time he came within arm’s length, so that in the end he had to resort to a desperate, flamboyant tackle to bring them down. Once he had his hand over their backs, it was a different matter – thumb pressed against the neck-bone, two forefingers to lever back the head until the neck snapped. Four crows had changed sides; not nearly as many as he’d have liked, but enough to make a start.

  Next, Poldarn chose his place. That was a simple enough decision; all he had to do was look at the pattern of the green haze of pea-sprouts just starting to show above the ground, and mark out the biggest bare patch, where the core of the flock had been feeding. The size of it made him very angry; almost a quarter of the crop was already ruined, an act of war against him and his household that he would have to make good against them, one way or another. Life was hard enough without this sort of thing, the sudden advent of a horde of merciless raiders who didn’t care if the Ciartanstead house starved. Something had to be done, and it was already way past diplomacy or settlement.

  Next, he built his hide. Again, he didn’t need to think hard about that. The bare patch was tight in to the middle point of the hedge and ditch side; that was where they wanted to be, so that was where he’d have to go. Fortunately, it was the place he’d have chosen anyway; there was even a young oak standing up out of the hedge, to mask him from above. With that, the ditch to hunker down in, and the screen of weeds and nettles out front, he was practically invisible until he chose to show himself. Admittedly, it wasn’t going to be comfortable crouching in the bottom of the ditch. The mud (silt fro
m the recent rains, the last of the black ash filtered and ground small by the water) came oozing up round his ankles, and he had to sit on his heels with his back braced against the trunk of the oak, his head and neck craned forward so he could look out through a narrow gap in the weed-curtain. If he stayed here any length of time he’d be crippled the next day. As if that mattered.

  Having marked his place in the ditch, Poldarn scrambled out and set up his decoys. From the thorn hedge he cut four straight sticks, each as long as his hand from fingertip to wrist. He sharpened these on the thin end and dug the points in under the dead crows’ lower jaw, up through the brains until they stopped against the roofs of the skulls. That was enough to hold the dead birds’ weights as he pegged them out, as realistically as he could manage, standing them upright with the heads raised and the beaks jutting out like spears at port arms, proud sentries at their posts. With only four of them to play with he couldn’t suggest a convincing pattern, so they would have to be scouts, marking out the limits of the safe zone in advance of the main body. Accordingly he posted them at the extreme corners of his killing field, fifteen paces from his hide. The idea was that the crows would come in along the obvious flight-line from their castle, the knot of thin trees on the hilltop. Once they’d marked the position of the scouts and been made aware of the safe zone, they’d slow down by turning into the breeze, bank, and glide down to pitch in the centre of the approved space, gradually filling it from the middle outwards until there was no more room; whereupon another platoon of scouts would establish further safe zones in suitable adjoining areas, and so on until the field was carpeted with crows like black snow.

  Before going back to his hide, he skirmished the headland for a few more handfuls of stones, just in case it turned into a good day (nothing worse than having to disrupt a fluent spell to go scrabbling out in the open for ammunition). Then he folded himself into the hide as best he could, wriggled his back into the closest approximation of comfort that he could find, and waited to see what would happen.