Memory

Poldarn shook his head. 'I'm a great believer in fool's luck,' he said.

She smiled. 'I heard someone say once that luck is like a door: you push it, and you get to where you want to be. Nonsense in my opinion, but I thought it might cheer you up. Hello,' she said, 'why're we slowing down?'

The coachman turned back and said something about a roadblock. Noja's expression changed.

'Not good,' she said. 'Roadblocks are only when there's someone particularly dangerous on the loose.'

'I'm flattered,' Poldarn said. He had the sword he'd helped himself to the previous evening, but he really didn't want to get into a fight: it'd spoil everything.

The coach stopped, and a moment or so later a soldier walked up and peered in through the vehicle's window. 'Sorry,' he said, 'but you've got to go back.'

Poldarn stayed where he was. Noja leaned across him and said, 'What do you mean? We're going to the honey festival.'

'Cancelled.' The soldier looked grave. 'Sorry, but it's a routine precaution. Quarantine.'

Noja looked as though she didn't know what the word meant. 'What?'

'There's been an outbreak of plague,' the soldier said, 'in Tulice. It's all right,' he went on, 'nobody's saying anything about it having reached this side of the Bay, and all shipping's been stopped, roads in and out of there all sealed, and they're looking for anybody who's known to have arrived from there in the last month. Also, all large public gatherings have been cancelled, and they'll be closing the city gates at midnight tonight; nobody in or out until the risk of infection's over. Apparently it's a nasty strain of plague, but quick; if we can keep it out for a week, we'll be safe. That's it, basically.'

'Wonderful,' Noja said, with a slight wobble in her voice, which the soldier would've put down to fear of the plague. 'So what're we supposed to do?'

'You're from the city, right? Well, best possible thing to do is go straight back there.'

'What, and get stuck there when the plague starts? Not likely.'

The soldier shook his head. 'Safest place in the Empire, it'll be; that's why they're closing it off. You'll be far more at risk if you stay outside.'

There wasn't any point in arguing; the only way through the roadblock was over the dead body of the soldier and the rest of his outfit, and there wouldn't be any point in going to that extreme, since Tazencius obviously wasn't going to be at Beal anyway. Noja pursed her lips, putting on a scornful expression that reminded Poldarn of Copis. 'Wonderful,' she repeated. 'So we're going to be locked up in the city for a week. You know how many ships dock at Torcea every day?'

The soldier sighed. Clearly he was under orders to be polite to anybody in a posh carriage, and he didn't like it. 'Like I said,' he replied, 'Torcea's the safest place in the Empire right now. Like, if there was even the slightest danger, would the Emperor be headed there right now?'

'Ah.' Noja smiled at him. 'That puts a different complexion on it. If it's safe enough for the Emperor, it must be all right.'

The soldier seemed relieved, if confused, at her reaction. 'Exactly,' he said. 'So, if you wouldn't mind moving on; it's just that you're blocking the road.'

Back the way they'd so recently come. 'Did you believe any of that?' Poldarn asked.

She shook her head. 'Too convenient,' she replied. 'There hasn't been plague in the Empire for a hundred years. And starting in Tulice, too. No, someone's worried about something. It's a good excuse for them to close the roads, tell people what to do and have them do it; and really helpful for tracking down new arrivals from Tulice, don't forget. They've never had plague in Tulice, as far as I know; it only starts in hot, dry countries and cities, and Tulice is cold, wet and rural.' She sighed again. 'Someone's heard something, and they're looking for you.'

Poldarn nodded. 'That'd make sense, I suppose,' he said. 'And it sounds like Cleapho may have been found out. If they know about me, they may know about him too.'

'I hadn't thought of that,' Noja said quietly. 'Maybe we shouldn't go back to town, then.'

Poldarn shook his head. 'That's where Tazencius is, according to that man,' he replied, 'and there's no reason to think he was lying about that. Only question is, can we make it back to Torcea before they close the gates?'

'Just about,' she replied.

'Just about' was right; they arrived as the gates were closing, after a terrifying gallop in the dark that left Poldarn feeling sick and profoundly unhappy, although Noja didn't seem unduly troubled. But she was nearly frantic at the thought of being marooned out in the country for a week with only the money she'd brought with her-hardly enough, Poldarn reckoned, to buy a small farm and a flock of sheep.

'You can't come in,' the gatekeeper told her. 'Quarantine. Sorry.'

'Fuck you,' Noja replied. It was the wrong approach; the gate slammed, and a bolt rasped in its rings. Noja stood staring for quite a long time before Poldarn could snap her out of it.

'Did you see that?' she whispered, awestruck. 'He just shut the gates in our faces.'

'You shouldn't have sworn at him,' Poldarn said.

'Fuck you, too.'

Poldarn smiled, though it was too dark for her to see. 'We'll just have to find another way in,' he said.

'Another way in? Are you out of your mind, or just ignorant? This is Torcea: the walls are twenty feet high and ten feet thick. Your friends from the foundry and the Poldarn's Flutes couldn't get us in there.'

'I wasn't thinking of digging a tunnel,' Poldarn replied mildly. 'I was thinking more of getting arrested.'

'Getting-what did you say?' But he'd already walked away, looking for something. In the dark, this took him a little while, but eventually he came back to where Noja was standing, holding something heavy in both hands. 'What've you got there?' she said irritably.

'A large rock,' Poldarn replied, as if it was something no well-dressed man would leave home without. 'I think it's some kind of milestone or boundary marker; took a lot of pushing and shoving to get it out of the ground. Could be a gravestone, but who buries people next to the road?'

'What do you want with a-?' He answered her question by swinging the rock with all his strength at the wicket door in the gate. 'You're crazy,' she said. 'You can't break that down. It's bloody great thick oak planks.'

'I don't need to,' Poldarn grunted, and bashed the door again. Half a dozen bashes later, the door swung inwards, and four soldiers burst out in a blaze of yellow light. 'See you later,' Poldarn called back, as they grabbed him and dragged him inside.

They weren't pleased, particularly when he admitted he'd only been bashing on the gate because he'd missed the curfew and wanted to get inside; they clearly felt he'd abused their good nature by forcing them to arrest him. 'It's a night in the cells for you,' they growled.

Poldarn smiled. 'Fine,' he said.

'Then you can explain yourself to the magistrate in the morning.'

Poldarn shrugged. 'Whatever,' he replied. 'Beats dying of plague, anyway.'

Two crows sitting in a tall thin tree-The song, still there, like an arrowhead that has to be left in the wound because getting it out would be too dangerous. But this didn't look like the sort of place where he could reasonably expect to find lost lines from old songs, so he looked about him instead.

At first, he thought he was alone in the cell; but, as his eyes grew accustomed to the faint light of the oil lamp that they'd been kind enough to leave behind, he saw that there was someone else in there with him, a small bundle sitting in the corner, looking sad. He assumed it was asleep, but it spoke.