Shadow

'I see,' Poldarn said. 'If you'll…'

'And there, of course,' Cleapho went on, 'is where it really starts to get screwed up; because suddenly out of nowhere about three hundred and twenty-five years ago along comes this purely domestic tradition, right out of the blue with no warning, where the god in the cart isn't actually Poldarn but Poldarn's son, would you believe, and the battle with the Saviour comes right after the museum-'

'Excuse me,' Poldarn interrupted, 'but what was that name you just mentioned?'

'Poldarn. Him,' Cleapho explained, pointing at the picture. 'The one we've been talking about all this time.'

'Poldarn?'

'That's right.'

Poldarn took a deep breath. 'That's the god's name, is it?'

Cleapho frowned, looking puzzled. 'Well, of course. Didn't you know that? Sorry, I'd assumed you knew, otherwise why would you be interested in the painting? Yes, that's the name. Southern, originally.'

'And hundreds of years old?'

'More than hundreds of years down in Morevish and Thurm. More like thousands. They're very conservative down there, hardly ever change their gods. Not like us.' At that point he appeared to notice something and swore under his breath. 'Look,' he said, 'you'll think I'm very rude but I've just realised I've left my escort and about a dozen porters standing about in the courtyard-I came straight here, you see, from the jetty-so I really ought to go and sort them out, before they assume I've been murdered and tear the place apart looking for me. If you're interested in all this, catch me a bit later on and I'll tell you some more. Bye for now.'

Before Poldarn could say anything, Cleapho had marched briskly down the aisle and slipped out through the door; it was rather shocking that anything that size could be moved so fast without a crane and rollers, at the very least. Poldarn took one last look at the picture and headed back to his place at table, to find that Copis had come up the aisle and was only a few feet away.

'You do know who that was you were talking to, don't you?' she hissed.

Poldarn, who'd been about to say something else, frowned. 'He said his name was Cleapho,' he replied.

'That's right, Cleapho,' Copis said, actually sounding bewildered for once. 'Cleapho, the emperor's personal chaplain. Even I recognised him, and it's years since I was last in Torcea.'

'Torcea,' Poldarn repeated.

'That's right. You know, where the emperor lives. I must have heard him preach in temple-oh, dozens of times. And it's not a voice you forget.'

Poldarn hadn't noticed anything specially distinctive about it, but that wasn't the subject he wanted to talk about. 'You said you got the name off a roof tile,' he said.

'What?'

'You know, the name. Poldarn. You said it was the name of a brickworks.'

Copis looked even more confused. 'It is.'

'No it's not,' Poldarn told her. 'It's the name of this god I'm supposed to be, and that man Cleapho-'

'Outside,' Copis interrupted. 'Before somebody hears us.'

So they went outside, and found a corner of the yard that wasn't overlooked or near anything else. 'He told me,' Poldarn said angrily, 'that this Poldarn is a real god, from somewhere away down south, and there's all sorts of stories about him, including one where he drives round in a cart with a priestess burning down cities. You must've known that; it can't be a coincidence. So why did you tell me you'd picked the name at random?'

'I did,' Copis said. 'It must just be a coincidence, that's all. Look, forget about all that now, it isn't important. Do you realise you've just spent ten minutes talking to one of the most powerful men in the whole empire?'

'What?' Poldarn said, disconcerted. 'I thought you said he was some sort of priest.'

'That's right, some kind of priest. And the emperor's some kind of government official. What the hell's he doing here? And what were you talking to him about for all that time?'

Poldarn was so bewildered that it took him a moment to remember. 'The picture,' he said. 'He told me he'd come all the way from somewhere-Torcea, I think-just to look at that picture. Then he started telling me the story, only he kept sidetracking himself.'

Copis shook her head. 'Cleapho's probably the cleverest man in the empire,' she said. 'If he was talking to you all that time, it wasn't just passing the time of day. What did you tell him? About us, I mean?'

'Nothing. He didn't ask.'

'No, you're missing something. He wouldn't make it sound like he was asking. The likes of him don't talk to the likes of you for a quarter of an hour unless it's a national emergency.'

Poldarn shook his head. 'He said the painting was three hundred years old. If it's an emergency, it can't be a very urgent one.'

'No.' Copis put on her decisive face. 'Something's going on. I don't know or care what it is, but I don't want to get mixed up in it. Let's go to Mael Bohec while we still can.'

'We've only just got here.'

'So? Anything special you were planning on doing while we're here?'

Once again he thought of the lump of fused gold in the back of the cart, and what better time to tell her about it than now? Somehow, though, it didn't feel right; whether it was the thought of how she'd react when she found out he'd been keeping the good luck from her, or perhaps a little scrap of suspicion, a trace element from the stranger he used to be that had survived the melt, or something else that was buried too deep to be found. 'I just don't see what the problem is, that's all,' he said. 'If this Cleapho's so very important, why the hell should he have the slightest interest in us?'

She looked at him. 'Define us,' she said. 'Oh, I know exactly who I am. You, on the other hand…'

He hadn't thought of that. Something the big, bearded man had said, You don't recognise me, do you? It had seemed to fit the context perfectly well at the time. Remembered in isolation, it could be made to mean all sorts of things. 'You think he knows who I am? From before…'

Copis looked away. 'I didn't say that.'

'You think he knows me,' Poldarn said, raising his voice a little. 'What's more, you think I'm the reason he's here.'

She tried to walk away but he grabbed her arm. He was gripping hard enough to hurt, but she didn't say anything about it. 'You think a man like that'd come all this way just to look at a mouldy old painting?'

Poldarn let go a little. 'It's a religious painting. He's a priest. For all I know it could be really, incredibly important.'