Memory

'Why won't you tell me who we're going to see?' he asked.

'Because,' Copis replied.

'Leave her alone, for pity's sake,' Gain said. 'If you keep on at her she'll get really snotty, and we've got a long way to go.'

Ah, Poldarn said to himself, absurdly pleased, so she was lying. He felt as though he'd just achieved a victory, as if he'd contrived to fool a crow into coming in to the decoys.

But he was deceiving himself, as usual. Just because she was lying about how far they still had to go-all sorts of reasons why she should lie about that; to shut him up, stop him complaining. All parents tell that sort of lie to their children. Or maybe Gain was the one who wasn't telling the truth. Wouldn't be the first time.

'When we get there,' he said, 'what have I got to do?'

'You'll see.'

No, Poldarn wanted to say, that was a genuine question, not a chess move. 'You must have something in mind for me,' he said mildly. 'You didn't go to all this trouble just so that we could have a class reunion.'

She looked at him. 'Really? Don't you think it's just possible that we'd be prepared to put ourselves out a bit to rescue one of our own? You have a very poor opinion of people, Ciartan.'

Rescue? Where did that concept come from, all of a sudden? 'No,' he said. 'You need me for something. Come on, give me a clue. You're both so mad keen to tell me all about my past, when I don't want to know. How about giving me a few clues about my future? I care about my future,' he added, grinning. 'Assuming I've got one.'

Copis sighed. 'I lied to you,' she said.

'Oh.' Poldarn looked at her.

'Yes,' she said. 'There is a bit of food left; well, biscuits. Thurm corn-dodgers. The traveller's friend-eat 'em or sharpen knives on 'em. Gain, give him a biscuit. Maybe breaking all his teeth'll shut him up.'

Poldarn shook his head. 'I'm not hungry any more,' he said.

'You said-'

'I was lying.'

Shortly after midday they stopped, for no apparent reason. The road had emerged very briefly from the forest, into a wilderness of tree stumps overgrown with bracken, spindly willow saplings and ground elder-typical charcoal burners' devastation, dating back maybe twenty or twenty-five years. The rain had lapsed into a fine drizzle (Tulice's idea of a sunny day, Poldarn reckoned), which obscured the sharp edges of the sawn-off stumps. Through the wet haze, Poldarn could see a shape that could be a small house, a collier's turf cabin.

'We're here,' Copis said quietly.

'Oh.' It wasn't what Poldarn had been expecting. 'Are you sure?'

'Of course I'm bloody sure-' But she sounded almost nervous, too tense to be properly bad-tempered. 'We're here,' she repeated. 'He'll be along in a minute.'

No sound, except the rain pattering on the cart's canopy. The air smelled fresh, of washed leaves. He remembered the smell from somewhere; not home, obviously, because there weren't any trees. Had he been here before?

'Where's he got to?' Gain muttered. He'd been on edge ever since the cart had stopped. 'He should've been here, to meet us.'

Poldarn smiled. 'Maybe he's waiting for the rain to stop.'

That seemed to annoy Gain; a worthwhile objective in itself. 'I'm going over to the shack, see if he's there,' he said.

'No, stay still.' That was more like the old Copis. (How would I know that?) 'Keep still and try and be patient for once in your life.'

'Yes, but what if anything's-?' Gain caught sight of the expression on her face and subsided. 'Well, he should've been here to meet us,' he muttered. 'I mean, this is the right place, and-'

'Shut up, Gain,' Copis said softly. Poldarn looked across at the blurry shape that was probably a shack (unless Gain had been lying), but he couldn't see any movement in that direction. But Copis was pointing, like a bird-dog.

'Told you he'd be. here,' she said, apparently to herself, and as she spoke a shape pushed through the curtain of fine rain: a big man with broad shoulders, exaggerated by a bulky coat and hood. He wasn't in any hurry; he wasn't walking so much as processing, like someone used to having to be dignified in public. Even at that distance, fifty yards or more away, he looked familiar 'I know him,' Poldarn whispered. 'Copis, he's that man we ran into in Sansory, at that inn, where we got separated. He's the man who-'

She didn't say anything. Poldarn searched his mind, looking for the name, which he'd put in a safe place. It was only when the man walked calmly up to the cart and pulled back his hood that Poldarn remembered it. Cleapho; Chaplain Cleapho. Second most important man in the empire, or something like that 'Hello, Xipho,' he said, with a benign smile, 'Gain.' The smile didn't change when he shifted his head very slightly and added, 'Hello, Ciartan. Thanks for coming.'

When he'd spoken, Xipho had closed her eyes just for a tiny moment: relief, pure joy at having completed the task and handed over to her superior officer. Then she pulled herself together, tightened back up.

'Hello, Cordo,' she said.

Chapter Fourteen

'And now,' Copis said, 'everything should be blindingly obvious.'

Poldarn didn't even look at her. 'You're Chaplain Cleapho,' he said. 'I met you-'

Cleapho smiled, and Poldarn felt a gentle glow of benediction, as if his sins had been forgiven. Presumably just force of habit. 'That's right,' Cleapho said. 'At the Charity and Diligence at Sansory. You had rather a hard time there. I'm sorry. My fault; back then I didn't know about you losing your memory. Someone,' he added, not looking at Copis, not needing to, 'should've warned me in advance, but there was a breakdown in communications. Still, you handled yourself very well, and there was no harm done.' He paused, then smiled again. 'It's good to see you again,' he said, his voice lowering just the right amount to convey sincere concern. 'Though I can't say you're looking at your best. I heard about-well, what happened, from Gain here. It was a very brave thing to do, we're all grateful to you. We've got to stick together, after all. Particularly now,' he added, looking at Copis.

'What's been happening?' she said quickly. 'We're so out of touch-'

'Not so good,' Cleapho said. 'He's getting quite blatant about it, and that fool Tazencius doesn't seem to give a damn; too upset about his grandson, they reckon, though that doesn't sound like him to me. Anyhow, the latest news I heard was that they're coming. Might save us some trouble if they run into Muno along the way, but apart from that, it's looking a bit grim. Do you think those monks of yours can do any good?'

Copis shook her head. 'I wouldn't rely on them to cook dinner,' she said bitterly. 'And that Spenno character's no better, from what I've heard-either crazy or stupid or both.'

'It doesn't matter,' Cleapho replied calmly. 'Remember, we don't need them ourselves, it's just important that he doesn't get hold of them. And the Earwig won't let us down.'

'Yes, but does he understand-?'

'I've written to him, it's all right.' Cleapho shrugged the whole topic aside. 'Well, are you going to make me stand out here in the rain all day, or shall we make a move? I hate this rotten bloody country, it never stops.'

He scrambled up onto the cart, stepping over Gain and settling himself in the back, fussily, like someone's mother. 'Xipho,' he called out, 'your bloody canopy's got a hole in it. There's water all over the floor.'

'Sorry,' Copis replied. 'We'll get it fixed at Dui Chirra.' She stopped short, then looked over her shoulder at him. 'We are going to Dui Chirra, aren't we?'

'Well, of course we are,' Cleapho replied. 'And the sooner we start, the sooner we'll get there.'

'Just a moment,' Gain called out. He stood up, nodded to Poldarn to shift along the bench, and then sat down where he'd been sitting, boxing him in. 'Not that you're going to jump off and make a run for it, why should you?' he explained.