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  A soft buzz of approval ran round the hall. Halder stood up again.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘assuming it’s going to rain in the next few days. If it doesn’t, what’re the stock going to eat? And what are we going to eat in four months’ time, when the crop’s failed because we left it lying under a bloody great load of ashes?’

  Someone else at the back – it might have been Seyward, or Torburn – called out, ‘It’ll rain, count on it. You looked at the mountain? All the snow’s gone. I’m no weather expert, but it stands to reason that the snow turned to steam and it’s up there somewhere right now, waiting to come down in a damn great flood. It’ll rain all right, you’ll see, and then we’ll have rivers of mud, just like they did at Lyatsbridge. And I for one don’t want to be here when that happens.’

  It’s not just me, Poldarn thought, it’s all of them, they’re shocked. Hardly surprising. All the time he’d been there, he’d never once heard anybody deliberately separating himself from Halder’s viewpoint like that. He could see it in their eyes, a definite spark of panic as they realised what the mountain could do to them, over and above burning, burying and killing.

  ‘All right,’ Halder said, raising his voice even though the hall was deathly quiet, ‘it isn’t going to come to that, and yes, you’ve got a very good point there, something we’ve definitely got to bear in mind. But we’ve got to think about all the possibilities.’

  ‘I agree.’ This time it was one of the women – Aldeur, he was fairly certain, Scaptey’s daughter; a tall, spare, gaunt-faced woman who washed clothes. ‘And there’s one we haven’t even mentioned yet, though if you ask me it’s the best idea of the lot. Look, this is a huge island, it’s so big there’s a lot of it nobody’s even been to yet. Who says we’ve got to stay here? After all, what’s here? It’s just a house, and feeling comfortable because we know every stone and blade of grass in the valley. What’ve we got here that we wouldn’t have if we upped sticks and went somewhere else? I’ll tell you what, shall I? A horrible bloody great fire-breathing mountain, that’s what, and you know, I think we’d be better off without it. After all – no offence, Halder, but it’s got to be said – it won’t be all that long before we’re pulling this house down and building another one anyhow; so why the hell build it here, up to our necks in hot ashes, never knowing from one day to the next if we aren’t going to wake up one morning cooked like a chicken in a crock? I’m telling you, I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe again so long as we’re here, I’ll spend all day long looking over my shoulder to see if the mountain’s on the go again. It’s a nice place, but it’s just a place. I’ve got kids to consider, and I think their lives are more important than a few old traditions.’ She paused, and frowned. ‘There was more stuff I was going to say but I can’t remember what it was now. Anyhow, that’s what I think, and I’ll bet you I’m not the only one.’

  Poldarn felt sorry for Halder; he looked like he was having a long, hard day. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘there’s definitely something to be said for that. Let’s see who agrees with her. Right, anybody who thinks we should leave here and go somewhere else, stick your hand up.’

  Aldeur’s hand shot up straight away. Nobody else moved.

  ‘That’s that settled, then,’ Halder said. ‘It’s a good idea, but let’s try and come up with something else. Anybody?’

  Nobody. Poldarn wriggled uncomfortably on his bench. He’d come very close to putting his hand up when Halder called the vote, but he’d been waiting for someone else (apart from Aldeur) to go first. By the looks of it, he hadn’t been the only one to do that.

  ‘Fine,’ Halder said. ‘So, basically we’ve got two options. One is to get stuck in and start clearing away this ash, the other is to wait and let the rain do it for us, assuming there’s going to be any more rain – and yes, I grant you, it looks like it’ll come tipping down any day now. The question is, do we all really want to bet our livelihood and our lives – same thing, really – on a weather forecast. Because you know what rain’s like, it’s an evil bugger; pisses down for weeks on end when you don’t want it to, but when you need it desperately, it stays up there and will it hell as like come down. A week, we could probably manage. Three weeks, we’re looking at losing the stock and next year’s crop. It’s a simple bet. Personally, if I was going to put everything I’ve got on a wager, I’d rather stick to the horse racing. It’s easier to gauge form.’

  Perhaps, Poldarn thought, I ought to form an opinion on this; after all, I’m part of this household, I should act like one and care. Of course, that would constitute getting involved—

  ‘Halder’s right.’ Eyvind was on his feet, and everybody was looking at him, for a change. It occurred to Poldarn, for the first time, that Eyvind was an outsider too, he didn’t belong to Haldersness, he had his own house on the other side of the mountain. In which case, he asked himself, what’s he doing here? Shouldn’t he be back home scraping ash off his own fields, or packing up his own pots and pans? What’s keeping him here?

  ‘Sure,’ Eyvind was saying, ‘we’ve got to think about mud-slides. The worst thing anybody can say in a crisis is, I never thought of that. But sitting tight and doing nothing, or going and camping out while the sun shines, that doesn’t make sense either. I say we’ve got to get the ash off the pasture and the ploughed ground first – keep an eye on the weather, I agree, but while we’re waiting for it to rain, let’s for God’s sake do something useful.’

  People were nodding their heads, muttering approval; even Aldeur, who’d wanted to leave the farm altogether just a moment ago. It was good to see the joint mind gradually coming back together, after the disconcerting spectacle of so many component parts starting to think for themselves. However— To his surprise, Poldarn found he was on his feet and about to say something.

  ‘All due respect,’ he heard himself say, ‘but I’m not sure you’ve thought this thing through, either of you. You’re saying, let’s go and rake up the ash, like we raked up the yard. All right, now ask yourselves, how long did that take? All of you, working together, very hard? Now then. Any one of you knows a damn sight better than I do how large this farm is, how many head of cattle you’re grazing, how many acres you’ve got ploughed and planted, so I’m not going to try and come up with any figures. You can do that for yourselves. How long’s it going to take to clear the ash off enough ground to make doing the job worthwhile? A month? A year? Ten years? All right, you do the figuring. While you’re doing that, ask yourselves this. If the whole household’s out there dawn to dusk shovelling cinders, what about all the other work that needs to be done around the place? I’ve been watching ever since I got here, it takes all of you all of your time just to keep things running normally. That’s fine; everybody’s got work, everybody knows what to do, there’s no waste of time or effort or materials. But everything’s changed now – you can’t just carry on doing what you’ve always done, you’ve got to deal with this new situation. And, to be honest with you, I don’t see how any of the ideas that’ve been put forward is going to be enough, except maybe what she said just now: packing up and going somewhere else entirely. But you all agreed you didn’t want to do that.’

  They were all staring at him, of course; but this time there was something radically different in their faces, and he couldn’t work out what it was. So he kept on talking instead.

  ‘All right,’ Poldarn went on, ‘that’s fine, we stay here. So let’s see if we can’t figure out how we can do that, without starving to death or drowning in mud. Anybody?’ Nobody moved or made a sound; he really wished he could read what they were thinking. ‘All right, then, how about this? We can’t feed the stock here, so we drive them inland, as far as it takes to find empty country where there’s enough grazing. Obviously, it’s going to take a lot of manpower to do that, but the stock have got to be a priority: it’ll take far longer to build up the herd from scratch than it would to get the arable side of things going again if we lose the crop. But I don’t see why tha
t’s got to happen, either. If we’re only talking about clearing the ash off the ground that’s already been planted, I don’t see why that shouldn’t be possible, even with, say, a third of our people away with the livestock. After all, we don’t have to get it all done in a week, it’ll take a while for the crop to go bad under the ash, far longer than it’d take for the animals to starve to death. As for everything else that we do around here – well, we’re going to have to look at that pretty carefully and see what we can cut out, if only for the time being. We don’t need beer or cider, for one thing; we don’t need the forge – sorry, Asburn, but that’s two of us spending all day making stuff that’s nice to have but not absolutely essential. Same goes for washing and mending clothes, all that sort of thing – I can’t be specific about every single thing, because I haven’t sat down and thought it all out, I’m just trying to put across the general principle; basically, if we don’t need it for bare survival, it doesn’t get done till the planted ground’s clear. Now I’m sure there’s a whole load of other things I haven’t considered, because I don’t know what they are yet. We can’t think of everything right now, there’s bound to be problems cropping up that we can’t possibly foresee. But we’ll just have to deal with them as we come to them, it’s something you learn to do when you’re living hand to mouth and on the fly, like I was doing back in the Empire before Eyvind here rescued me. As for the mudslides and whether it’s going to rain or not; same thing goes for that, I think, as for the workload. We’ve got to be prepared to get out of the house and onto the higher ground literally at a moment’s notice, so here’s what I think we should do. Each of us wants to pack a bag – just a small cloth bag you can grab in a hurry, with just the things you absolutely need and no more – and we take that bag with us everywhere we go, sleep with it within arm’s reach, so that as and when the mudslides start, we can grab it and run without even stopping to think. Anything too big to go in a bag, that we absolutely can’t do without and can’t readily make from scratch if we have to start all over again – I suggest that each of us is assigned one essential household item, and it’ll be our job to rescue that one thing. It takes all the thought out of it, really; you don’t have to stop and figure out what to take, you just get hold of your stuff and the thing you’re responsible for, and hit the ground running.’

  Poldarn paused for breath, then went on: ‘I’m not saying I’ve got the answer to every damn thing we might have to face, because that’d be stupid. I’m not saying you can’t think of better ways of dealing with specific problems, because I’m absolutely certain you all know far more about your particular job or function than I ever will, and so it makes much more sense for you to work out the details, rather than me. What I’m asking you to go along with is the general idea. First things first, get the stock safe, and then the planted crop. Be ready in case we get the mudslides, yes, but don’t let them paralyse you with fear, like a mouse cornered by a weasel. Really, it’s just common sense.’

  That appeared to be all he had to say, so he sat down again. For what seemed like a very, very long time, nobody moved or spoke. Bloody hell, he said to himself, I’ve really done it this time. Then, just as he was wondering how he should set about apologising, Halder got up and looked round.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s what we’ll do, then. After all, you’re the one who knows about these things.’

  For a moment, Poldarn thought the old man was being funny. But if he was, nobody had got the joke. They didn’t look particularly happy, but Poldarn could recognise resigned acceptance when he saw it. Amazing, he said to himself, I never knew I had such eloquence and leadership skills. Come to think of it, I’m not sure that’s something I want to know about myself. Chances are if I’ve always had these qualities, I haven’t done nice things with them.

  Then he noticed the expression on Eyvind’s face, and wondered what on earth was going on. He had no idea why, but Eyvind was scowling at him with genuine anger. What did I say? He wondered. He’s glaring at me like I just set light to his beard.

  ‘Right,’ Halder went on, with an audible sigh, ‘no use sitting here, we’ve got work to do. If anyone wants me, I’ll be in the trap-house.’

  A few moments later, the hall was empty, except for Poldarn and Eyvind; and Eyvind hadn’t shifted or changed the expression on his face.

  ‘Well,’ Poldarn said, trying to keep the tension out of his voice, ‘I didn’t expect that.’

  ‘Really?’ Eyvind’s voice was unusually quiet and flat; usually, he didn’t just talk, he performed. ‘Seems to me it all went off exactly the way you’d have wanted it to. I mean, they’re all out there doing as they’re told, aren’t they?’

  Poldarn shrugged. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘Though if they are, it beats me how. I mean, I was expecting we’d be here till midnight sorting out the details, like who’s going with the herd, who’s staying here, which jobs are essential and which ones we can put on hold for the time being. Instead—’

  ‘Not what you wanted, then.’ Eyvind sounded like a man who was barely in control of his temper, words leaking out of him involuntarily. ‘I can see that.’

  Poldarn knew it would have been better to let that go, but he was curious. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘You know perfectly bloody well.’

  ‘No.’ Poldarn shook his head emphatically. ‘I don’t know, that’s the point. Come on, you know as well as I do, I haven’t got a clue how their minds work.’

  ‘Our minds, you mean. And it doesn’t look that way to me.’

  Poldarn could feel an argument closing in, maybe even a fight. The question was whether he’d be able to get out of the way in time. ‘Suit yourself,’ he replied (and he knew at once that he’d used entirely the wrong tone). ‘I’m just telling you, that’s all. Really, I didn’t mean to, well, take charge or anything. We were discussing what would be the best thing to do, and I gave my opinion. Honestly, I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘Sure.’ Eyvind jumped to his feet, every aspect of the movement suggesting that he couldn’t stand being in a confined space with Poldarn for one moment more. ‘That’s all right, then. I believe you. Now I think I’ll go and get my horse saddled. Time I was going home, I reckon.’

  ‘Oh.’ Poldarn hadn’t been expecting that. ‘I can understand you wanting to, ’he went on. ‘It’s just that – well, you’ve been here ever since I arrived, I guess I’ve got used to depending on you – to explain things, tell me what’s going on, let me know when I’ve done something ignorant or offensive. It’ll be hard having to cope on my own.’

  ‘Really.’ Eyvind had his back to him now. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll manage. After all, you’ve got them eating out of your hand, which suggests you’re more or less settled in, doesn’t it?’

  This is ridiculous, Poldarn thought. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’ve obviously done something wrong. Would you mind telling me what it is?’

  He heard Eyvind sigh, though he couldn’t see the other’s face. ‘It’s not about right and wrong, you should know that by now. There’s no such thing as wrong, standing all by itself, not connected to anything. You did what you felt you had to do. That’s not wrong.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have done it. Nor would anybody else, in your shoes. It’s not how we go about things here.’

  Now Poldarn was starting to get angry. ‘What isn’t?’ he insisted.

  ‘Forget it, will you? I mean,’ Eyvind added quietly, ‘that’s what you’re good at, forgetting things. Must be a wonderful knack to have, that.’

  More than anything, Poldarn wanted to hit him for that; he could feel how much satisfaction it would give him to drive his fist into the back of Eyvind’s head. If anything ever seemed to be the right thing to do at a particular moment, that was it. Instead, he deliberately unclenched his hands. ‘You may well be right,’ he said. ‘For some time, I’ve had this feeling that the reason why I can’t remember anything is that deep down, I don’t r
eally want to; because whoever I used to be, I don’t want to be him any more. I’ve got no idea if that’s a sensible attitude or not. Really, all I can do is try and get along without hurting myself. Or anybody else, for that matter.’

  (That last bit hadn’t been there in his mind, he’d had to add it deliberately and it hadn’t sounded at all right. Not so good.)

  ‘Sure,’ Eyvind said again, somehow contriving to bleach any hint of expression out of the word. ‘Look.’ He turned round, and Poldarn could see the strain in his face. ‘Let me give you a bit of advice, just to show there’s no ill feeling. Halder knows he’s going to die soon; he was only hanging on because there wasn’t anybody to take over from him, and then you turned up and he’s been waiting to see if you’ll shape up. But he won’t last much longer, this bloody business with the mountain is going to kill him any day now; he knows it, everybody knows it – apart from you, apparently. When he dies, you’ll be the farmer here, it’ll be your house and your farm. Everybody knows that, too. So, if you start telling people what to do, naturally they’re going to do it, because this is all new to us – I’m not just talking about the volcano, I mean this business of having to cope with things we don’t know about or understand. But you – well, I don’t think you really know any more about us than you did when you arrived. Oh, you’ve picked up a whole bunch of details, like a ball of wet dough picking up dust, but you’ve positively refused to join in or act like this is where you belong. Until now; and suddenly you’re in charge, you’re giving orders. Damn it, if I’d known you were going to do that, I’d have left you behind at Deymeson.’