by K. J. Parker
The young man disagreed. The young man felt that it mattered very much. And, since he was a junior adjutant on the major-general's staff, he was in a position to do something about it, so if he'd care to follow In the end Poldarn chose a rather magnificent chestnut mare, which he figured would fetch him at least fifty quarters in the stolen-horse market at Sansory. The young man didn't tell him who it belonged to, and he didn't ask. Instead he thanked the young man politely, took the horse by the bridle and headed for the gate.
'I really can't thank you enough,' the young man assured him for the seventh or eighth time. 'Really he's my uncle but we're more like brothers. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him.'
'No problem,' Poldarn muttered, wishing he'd go away before his enthusiasm and loud, high voice attracted the attention of the horse's owner. 'So which way are you people headed now?' he added, by way of changing the subject.
'I'm not sure, to be honest with you,' the young man replied, lengthening his stride to keep up. 'Either back to Laise or on to Liancor, it depends on when the reinforcements get here. I heard someone say General Cronan may be taking the field himself now that Tazencius has got involved. Apparently they've hated each other for years. I hope it's true, it'd be a real honour to serve under General Cronan.'
Wisely, Poldarn decided not to comment on that. 'Well, best of luck,' he said. 'Hope it all goes well for you and your brother. I'm heading back to Sansory myself; any idea where the enemy went? I'd rather not bump into them on the road.'
The young man nodded briskly. 'I can see that,' he said. 'I don't honestly know, myself, but I could ask someone if you like.'
'That's all right,' Poldarn assured him immediately, 'I'm sure I'll manage. Thanks for your help.'
'No,' the young man replied earnestly, 'thank you.'
True, the young man was about as restful as a storm at sea, but thanks to him Poldarn was outside the gate with a good, valuable horse, so that was just fine. The road was straight and reasonably firm, and there was no reason why he shouldn't be able to get a move on and reach Sansory in two and a half days Then he saw the cart.
His cart-Falx Roisin's cart-no doubt about it, because there was the bent left-side tailgate catch, there was the improvised cotter pin; even the same horses, the grey and the roan. He slowed down as he passed and drew level, looking hard at the man and woman sitting side by side on the box.
'You two,' he called out.
They didn't answer, or even look round at him. The man was mostly muffled up in a dark cloak, with a broad-brimmed black hat shading his face. The woman, on the other hand 'Copis?'
Her head cranked round so sharply he was afraid she'd hurt her neck. She reined in the cart. The man moved, was probably about to say something, but she kicked his ankle and hissed at him to shut up.
'Copis,' Poldarn repeated. 'What the hell?'
'Oh,' she said flatly, 'it's you. What on earth are you doing out here?'
Somehow, he felt that that was his line. Now that he'd seen her, of course, he recognised the man's coat and hat.
'Working,' he said. 'What about you?'
'Same thing,' she said. 'You're just about to make a fuss, aren't you? Well, don't. I got a new partner once before, I can do it again, can't I?'
Not for the first time when talking to Copis, Poldarn had the feeling he'd missed out an important section. 'I suppose so,' he said. 'But what the hell are you doing playing this racket again? I thought you'd given up doing this sort of thing.'
She glared at him. 'Did you really?' she said. 'Well, you're wrong. Can we go now, please?'
That annoyed him. 'No,' he said. 'That's my cart. Where did you get it?'
'Don't be silly,' Copis replied, shifting a little in her seat. 'It's mine. I paid good money for it.'
'When?'
'Why should that matter?'
Poldarn leaned out of his saddle and snatched the right rein out of her hand with a sharp flick of the wrist. 'Because it's my cart,' he replied. 'At least, it belongs to the Falx house. I lost it when I ran into the battle back at the ford-'
'Battle? What battle?'
'-And now here it is, with you in it. Who did you buy it from, and when?'
The man on the box started to make vaguely bellicose noises, which Copis ignored. 'None of your business,' she replied awkwardly. 'Let go of the reins.'
'No.'
'Oh, this is so childish. If you must know, I bought it from a gleaning party about an hour ago, back at the camp. It was a real stroke of luck finding one there, because we had to leave ours in a hurry when we ran into the soldiers-not those soldiers, the other ones, the ones who lost, I suppose. It had all the props and provisions in it, too.'
'Gleaning party,' Poldarn repeated. 'Oh, you mean people who go round robbing the dead after a battle? They actually let them in the camp?'
'Let them in?' Copis grinned. 'They sell franchises. Commanding officer's perk, worth good money. How do you think all that stuff they sell in the market at Sansory gets there?'
Poldarn could feel himself getting sidetracked. 'That's beside the point,' he said. 'It's still my cart-'
Copis shook her head, grinning smugly. 'No it's not,' she said. 'Articles of war; objects abandoned on battlefields. Good title in the goods passes to a purchaser from a duly licensed gleaner. Falx Roisin'll know what I'm talking about, even if you don't.'
Poldarn had no answer to that, since he'd never been able to tell when Copis was lying. Even when she was telling the truth she gave the impression she was lying; all he'd been able to do was make an educated guess from context. 'So what were you doing here anyway?' he said. 'You must be out of your mind going back to the god-in-the-cart routine. Didn't you hear? They hanged two people for working it only the other day.'
She scowled at him. 'So what are you going to do,' she said, 'turn me in? Why should you care?'
'I don't,' he said, wondering why she seemed so angry. 'But you don't need to take risks like that any more, surely. I thought-' He frowned. 'You can't have lost all that money already, can you?'
The new god looked up sharply. 'What money?'
'You, shut up. No, of course I haven't,' Copis snapped. 'Not lost. It's just-invested, that's all.'
'Invested?'
'Long-term investment. It'll be a while before I can realise it again. In the meantime, I've got to earn a living, and the ivory mirror business turned out not to be any good. So.'
Poldarn could feel his temper fraying. 'So you're back to risking your life and cheating people,' he said. 'Oh, brilliant idea. Progress. Why can't you just settle down and get yourself a proper job somewhere?'
She looked at him. 'Like you did.'
'That's nothing to do with it. You can't have lost all the money, surely. There must've been enough left over for a barrow and a few bolts of cloth-'
'You didn't say anything about any money,' the new god persisted. 'What's he talking about?'
'Be quiet,' Copis hissed at him. 'And I haven't lost it, I keep telling you, it's just-'
But the new god was getting annoyed now. 'Don't you tell me to be quiet,' he said, grabbing Copis by the arm. 'What money?'
'Ow, that hurts,' Copis complained, wriggling. 'If you don't let go-'
'Tell me,' the new god insisted, 'about this money.'
It occurred to Poldarn, briefly, that maybe he ought to intervene. He dismissed the thought, since his interventions generally seemed to end in blood and carnage. Copis managed to pull her arm free, but that didn't make things any better. Instead the new god went from annoyed to angry and smacked her hard across the face, the ring on his middle finger cutting her lip. She shrieked and tried to get off the box, but the new god was quick. He grabbed her left wrist and pulled her back, and the sudden movement unsettled Poldarn's horse. He reined it back; the new god must have seen the movement out of the corner of his eye and misinterpreted it, because he shoved Copis down on to the floor of the cart, and stood up on the box, growling, 'And you stay out of it, understood?' Po
ldarn was still occupied with the horse and didn't answer or look round. The new god didn't like that; he lifted the goad out from the rest and lashed out with it, presumably meaning to hit Poldarn's horse, but he missed and cut Poldarn across the face instead. He flinched but managed to keep his seat on the horse; it was only a moment later that he realised he'd grabbed the end of the goad with his left hand after it had hit him, and was still holding on to it.
The new god didn't like that at all. He tried to pull the goad away; Poldarn resisted until he could see the new god was pulling too hard to keep his balance, then let go. As anticipated, the new god fell backwards off the box and landed hard on his left shoulder. Copis stuck her head up, yelling at one or the other of them to stop it, then ducked quickly out of the way as the new god scrambled back up on to the box, this time holding the felling-axe that hung from a pair of big brass hooks on the off side of the cart.
If the horse hadn't been skittish, it would've been perfectly simple for Poldarn to pull away and put some distance between them, but she wouldn't move when he tried to kick her on, and by the time he'd tried that and failed the new god was inside his circle and posing a definite threat. He made a conscious decision to cut at the new god's arms rather than his neck, but he made it too late, instinct had already aimed and executed the shot, and while Poldarn was still thinking about ways not to kill him the new god was toppling backwards and the back of Poldarn's sword was pressing on the web between his left thumb and forefinger, on its way back into the scabbard.
There was a moment's silence.
'You really must stop doing that,' Copis said, in a dull, sullen voice.
Poldarn got off his horse and walked slowly across to where the new god's body lay. The cut had gone right down to the bone. 'You saw what happened,' he mumbled. 'He was going to…'
'They always are,' Copis replied. 'You seem to have the knack of making people want to kill you.' She shook her head. 'He was a loud-mouthed, foul-tempered idiot you wouldn't trust as far as you could spit him and probably he'd have made a really useless god, but he was all I could get.' She sat down on the box and mopped up a splash of blood with a handful of raw wool. 'Ever since I met you, my luck's been bloody awful. None of it's really your fault, as in nasty or stupid things you've done, it just seems like you carry bad luck around with you, like the smell on a pig-breeder's boots. You always seem to come out of it just fine.'
'We'd better get out of here,' Poldarn said. 'I don't suppose another body's going to cause any problems so near a battlefield, but I'd rather not be here if a patrol from the camp comes this way. For one thing, I've got a feeling I wasn't really supposed to take this horse.'
Copis shrugged. 'Get rid of it, then,' she said. 'That's assuming you're heading back to Sansory.'
'Yes. You?'
'Might as well. No reason to go to Laise, now.'
'You wouldn't have done any good in Laise,' Poldarn said, jumping up on the box beside her. 'That's where the government army's from-that lot,' he added, waving an arm in the direction of the camp. 'They'll have left some sort of garrison there. You wouldn't have wanted to try the act in a town where there's government officers; you'd have ended up in the stockade before you knew what hit you.'
Copis sighed. 'I suppose you're right,' she said. 'Next you'll be telling me you just did me a favour.' She picked up the reins. There were a few spots of blood on them, too, and she dabbed them away with the same piece of wool. 'So what were you doing down this way? This famous respectable job of yours?'
Poldarn nodded. 'Though I'm going off it,' he said.
'Oh? Why's that?'
'What you were saying,' he replied. 'Too much of that kind of stuff. Why can't I just sit behind a stall in a market somewhere all day and sell pots?'
Copis thought for a moment. 'You'd need some pots,' she said. 'And a stall. And selling stuff is a bloody precarious way of making a living.'
'More so than what I'm doing at the moment?'
'Probably,' Copis said. 'Oh sure, less chance of getting killed, but at least you get paid regularly and you've got a place to sleep provided, and probably meals too.'
'And clothes,' Poldarn put in. 'They even gave me a book.'
'A book?'
'That's right. With all the wisdom in the world in it.'
Copis raised an eyebrow. 'Must be a chunky old book, then.'
'Quite chunky,' Poldarn replied, 'though the recipe book was chunkier.' He frowned. 'Copis,' he said, 'what did happen to all that money?'
'You don't want to know. It was nearly a very good idea.'
'And it's all gone?'
'No, I keep telling you. It'll be back, almost certainly doubled. It's just going to take a while, that's all.'
'Invested.'
'Invested,' Copis confirmed. 'In a proper business. A really good business, come to that. I was lucky to have got in on the ground floor-I think that's the expression.'
'You're right,' Poldarn said, after a moment. 'I don't want to know. Besides, it's your money, nothing to do with me.'
'That's right.' Copis was quiet for some time, but she was clearly thinking about something. 'How about you?' she said at last. 'Have you got any money?'
Poldarn looked at her. 'What if I have?' he said.
'There's no need to get all defensive,' Copis said irritably. 'I was just asking, that's all.'
'People don't just ask in that tone of voice. Go on, then, tell me about it.'
'Well.' Copis breathed in deeply, then out again. 'What you were saying,' she said, 'about a stall in the market, and selling things. There's a better way of making a living than that, and you'd never have to fight anybody.'
'I know,' Poldarn said, 'it's called farming. But I haven't got a farm, or at least not yet. One day, perhaps, if I can save up some money, and some con artist doesn't cheat me out of it-'
'Better,' Copis said patiently, 'than farming. But I can see you aren't interested.'
The road passed through a gap in a hedge, where there had once been a gate, and the beech trees on either side masked the view behind them, back to where the dead god lay, and the camp, and the battle. On either side of the road there were large, rough fields, dotted with the withered stems of last year's docks and thistles. A long way down the combe on the left-hand side was a small flock of sheep, and parallel with the road ran a broken-down dry-stone wall, more bother to mend than it was worth. Someone somewhere, in some inn, had been talking about how everything was slowly running down, not just this side of the bay but all across the empire; something to do with money being cheap and commodities expensive, too many people out of work, not enough labour to get the work done. It had made some kind of sense while the man was talking.
'Tell me about it,' Poldarn said.
Chapter Sixteen
Stand with your back straight. (Monach was asleep on a hard plank bed in the only inn in Prodo, a dismal little village two hours west of Laise Bohec; but in his dream he was twelve years old, and a novice in a practice hall at Deymeson.) Stand with your back straight '…Your right foot slightly ahead of your left, your feet apart by the width of your shoulders.' Father Tutor walked up and down the lines, looking for a misplaced foot to smack at with his foil. Late afternoon sunlight soaked through the thin vellum windowpanes, yellow and soft, and the whole world smelt of beeswax, sweat and wet plaster. 'Now, draw your sword and hold it out in front of you, both hands on the hilt, as far as you can reach comfortably without stretching.' A hedge of wooden foils sprouted from each row (Across so much space and time, Monach couldn't recognise himself; they all look the same at that age, particularly in novice's robes and temple haircuts. But he knew he was there, just as he always knew where his sword hilt was, or the extent of his circle.)
– and Father Tutor went back the way he'd just come, inspecting, adjusting the height of a foil-tip up or down, until he was satisfied that he'd achieved as much uniformity as was possible with a group of human beings.
'Very good,' he said. 'Now, p
lease listen very carefully, because I'm about to teach you the most important lesson you'll ever learn.' He waited for a heartbeat or so, just long enough to tantalise the class into paying attention. 'Moving your feet as little as you can, turn round in a circle, keeping your eyes fixed at all times on the tip of your sword.'
Of course, it was something of a shambles. For one thing, he hadn't specified clockwise or anticlockwise, and it was the first time they'd ever done the exercise… Inevitably, one or two novices collided in opposition, their foils meshing like the cogs of a gear-train. There was a certain amount of giggling, and the ludicrous sound of young, pattering feet on a polished wood floor.
'That'll do,' Father Tutor called out, and at once the giggling stopped and the youth in the room evaporated like water sprinkled on the bed of a forge. 'Lower your swords, stand down and listen carefully; this is very difficult, and if you get it wrong you will undoubtedly lose your first live fight and die. Now then.' He took a deep breath and stuck his thumbs into his sash, an unconscious mannerism that he hated because he knew it made him look pompous and fat, but that he had no real control over. The class was staring at him; he felt apprehension and antagonism. That was good.
'Think,' he told him, 'about the circle you've just drawn in the air.' (Was that Father Tutor talking, or the Junior Tutor that Monach had grown into, eighteen years later, the one who copied his former teacher's words and mannerisms now that he was a teacher himself? The sword-point describes a circle-) 'You can't see it now,' Father Tutor went on. 'You'd better learn to see it, because it's the circle of life and death-your life, your death, and the lives and deaths of others, possibly dozens or hundreds of them. So long as you're alone in the circle, you're safe, and so is your enemy. He can't reach you, and you can't reach him. As soon as either of you steps into the other's circle-and of course when you enter his circle, he enters yours-both of you are in terrible danger, both of you are a single moment away from success, from victory. The circle of life and death-there's a grand, magical-sounding name for you, but that's precisely what it is. Alone in your circle, you're safe and you can achieve nothing. Once your circle meshes with someone else's, you carry with you victory and defeat, both at the same time, success and failure, life and death.'