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  Monach opened his eyes; and the dream spread its wings and flapped away back into the darkness, carrying the memory of what he'd seen gripped in its beak. The old woman was standing over him, prodding him with her toe.

  'Breakfast,' she said. 'Fried oatmeal and cheese. Two quarters.'

  Monach nodded. He hated fried oatmeal. He was in Cric, so Josequin must have fallen in spite of him. He recalled that thought and wondered what the hell it meant.

  Chapter Ten

  Poldarn woke up out of a bad dream. There were crows in it, and a god who'd talked to him, and a lot of frightening stuff he was glad to see the back of. He opened his eyes and saw something familiar: the back wheel of a cart, turning steadily.

  'You're awake, then,' muttered the carter. 'That's good. You know, for a top-of-the-line security guard, you spend a lot of time sleeping. Maybe the gods send you warnings in dreams.'

  Poldarn sighed. It was a pity that the carter had taken against him so early, given that they were going to be spending the next four days together. The resentment was understandable, he supposed; he was being paid three times as much as the carter, and the carter was doing all the work (he'd offered to do a share of the driving, but the carter had just scowled suspiciously at him and not replied).

  'I'm sorry,' he said mildly. 'It's very boring, sitting here with nothing to do. Sleeping helps pass the time.'

  The carter flicked away a wasp with his left hand. 'You snore,' he said. 'And you talk in your sleep. Never knew anybody like it for rabbiting on. Crazy stuff, a lot of it.'

  'Really?' Poldarn sat up a little. 'What sort of thing?'

  'Don't ask me. I got better things to do than listen.'

  Tactical error, Poldarn realised; by expressing an interest, he'd made the carter unwilling to tell him. Still, it wasn't too late to change tack.

  'I don't believe you,' he said. 'I've never noticed that I talk in my sleep.'

  'Well of course you haven't,' the carter said. 'Think about it.'

  Poldarn shook his head. 'Somebody would have mentioned it by now,' he maintained. 'Especially if I really said lots of crazy stuff.'

  'Oh, it was crazy all right,' the carter replied. 'Bloody weird, sometimes. All about wars and battles and dead bodies lying around the place; that's when you aren't talking to the gods. What you need is a double dose of rhubarb, clean you out a bit.'

  'I thought you said you weren't listening.'

  'I wasn't. But you talk so loud I couldn't help hearing bits of it. No choice of mine, I promise you.'

  'Give me an example,' Poldarn said. 'Otherwise I'll know you're just bullshitting me.'

  The carter laughed. 'You asked for it,' he said. 'What about just now, when you were jabbering away; first it was somebody called Ciartan, next it was General Cronan, then it was the bloody emperor, if you please-I got an idea that's probably treason, dreaming nutty dreams about the emperor-and then, like that wasn't bad enough, you started talking to the gods. "No, I won't do it," you were saying-yelling, more like it, I didn't know where to look. Kept on saying the same thing over and over again, "I won't do it, I won't do it." I'd have woken you up, only they say if you wake someone up when they're having nutty dreams, sometimes they stick like it. I'm telling you, it was better fun than the pantomime.'

  Poldarn nodded. 'Glad you enjoyed it,' he said. 'I really wish I could remember some of it. After all, why should you have all the fun?'

  The carter shook his head. 'And before that,' he said, 'when you were being Feron Amathy-though why you'd want to be a vicious little creep like that, God only knows. There you were, giving orders-"Burn the houses," you were shouting, "burn the houses, don't let any of them escape." Turned me up just listening to you.'

  'Who's Fern Amathy?'

  The carter scowled again. 'That's not funny,' he said. 'There's some things you shouldn't make jokes about. People can get offended.'

  Poldarn sighed. It was just starting to get dark, and a big flock of rooks were streaming by high overhead, making for a stand of thin larches. 'I wasn't trying to be funny,' he said. 'Seriously, I'm not from around here. Not even from this side of the bay. And I don't recognise the name.'

  'You're kidding.'

  'No.'

  'Oh.' The carter looked at him sideways, as if checking to see if he had an extra finger on either hand now that he knew he was an offcomer. 'Should've known, I suppose, by your voice.'

  'My voice?'

  'Yeah, your voice. You talk funny. Well, maybe not funny where you come from, but you know what I mean. You don't talk right.'

  Poldarn shrugged. He'd made a resolution, he reminded himself; not interested any more. 'Be that as it may,' he said. 'Who's Fern Amathy?'

  'Not Fern,' the carter said. 'Feron. Feron Amathy. Runs the biggest free company this side of the bay. Real bastard.'

  Free company; ah yes, a euphemism for a band of mercenaries. He'd already gathered that they weren't popular. 'In what way?' he asked.

  'Any way you care to name, really. Like, there's a lot of people who reckon it's not the raiders who go around burning down towns and cities, it's the Amathy house, and they kill all the people to make sure there's no witnesses to give the game away. Not all the towns and cities,' the carter added, after a moment's reflection. 'It's when they're between jobs with nothing to do, they go around doing that sort of stuff and blaming it on the raiders. Real bastards, like I said.'

  'I agree with you,' Poldarn said, 'if it's really them.'

  'Stands to reason,' the carter replied, though he didn't enlarge on it. 'And then there's how he treated General Allectus. There's a lot of people had time for General Allectus, he wasn't half as bad as he's been made out. And even if he was no better than the others, there wasn't any call for Feron Amathy to go changing sides like he did, right in the middle of the battle. That's unprofessional, that is. I mean, before that, if you hired a free company, all right, it's usually a bad move regardless of how things go in the war, but at least you could be pretty sure they wouldn't stab you in the back. Now, though, they're all doing it, and the upshot is, instead of being over nice and quick and clean, these bloody little wars keep dragging on and on, with one lot changing sides, then another lot going over to the other side, backwards and forwards like two mules ploughing. Chaos.'

  '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 t
o 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.