"A war widow, I believe," he said. "Did you bring the food?"
She handed over a basket, covered with a cloth. He grabbed at it, snatched the cloth away, tried not to pull a face. She must have seen something, though, because she said, "It was all I could get."
"It's fine," he said.
"Everything's so expensive now, with the war."
"I said it's fine, thank you." The ends of two loaves, some scraps of cold chicken, white with congealed grease. He knew she could do better than that, but it wasn't worth making an issue out of it and provoking a sulking war. "I know how hard it must be," he said carefully. "It's wrong of me to impose on you like this."
Something in his voice had snagged her suspicions. Her eyes were tighter, and her mouth was hardening. "It's all right," she said. "Tomorrow I'll try and bring some cold beef. That's what we're having tonight. A friend of Falier's brought some in to the factory, he's got a friend who works on the carts. He thinks he might be able to get other stuff, too, but what with the savages blocking the roads…"
He withdrew, letting her babble; it gave him time to think. When she paused for breath, he said: "Did you go and see the man I told you about?"
Briefly, guilt; then the shield came up. "I'm sorry," she said, "I haven't had time. It's difficult."
That told him she hadn't tried. "Do you think you could go and see him tomorrow?"
"I'll try."
Meaning no. "Please do," he said. "It's quite important. They're saying the savages have reached the downs; that's what that woman's making that noise for, her husband was killed in the fighting." He let the fact of a death hang in the air for a moment. Death by association. "It won't be long before they shut the gates," he said. "I've got to get out before then. You do see that, don't you?"
She didn't reply. She had that advantage. Silence was her way of falling back behind an unapproachable guard, forcing her opponent into an inadvisable attack.
"If I'm trapped in the City," he explained patiently, though of course she knew it all already, "sooner or later they'll find me. And when they find me, I'll be killed. Psellus will have me locked up in a cell, and then one morning, early, they'll come and take me out into the small courtyard behind the chapterhouse, and they'll put a rope round my neck, and that'll be that." He paused, but she was still in a posture of defence. "You don't want that to happen, do you?"
Or he could have hit her; the effect would have been the same. "They won't find you. They must think you've already gone. I haven't heard anybody say they've been looking."
He didn't bother to reply to that. "The man I told you about can get me out, quietly and safely," he said. "Once I'm outside, I can go where I'll be protected. It won't be for long," he added quickly, following up. "In fact, the sooner I leave, the sooner this whole stupid mess can be sorted out, the sooner I can come back, and then we can be together at last. Really together." He was able to say it as though he meant it, because he could remember the tone of voice he'd used when it did mean something, the precise level of controlled feeling. It worked; he'd got through. He followed up again. "That is what you want, isn't it?"
"Of course it is." Her voice betrayed her, finally. "Are you sure it's what you want? Really?"
Really? He was hungry. He was dirty, wearing filthy clothes, raw where he'd scratched at flea-bites; he was cold, wet, scared, furiously angry; he was ready to explode with rage and frustration, too frightened to poke his nose out of this unspeakable hovel in case someone recognised him under the dirt and filth. Was screwing her one more time what he really wanted? The question was, could he make her believe it was? Luckily, under all that cunning, she wasn't terribly bright.
"Of course," he said, and she believed him. Only because she wanted to.
"All right, then," she said. "I'll try and see him in the morning, after I've taken Moritsa to school. Will he want money? Only…"
He shook his head, careful not to let her see the relief. "That's all taken care of," he said. "Just say exactly what I told you; he'll tell you what to do. Really, it's for the best. It's the only way we can ever be together."
Her eyes narrowed again. He wondered if Psellus had cottoned on to that particular signal yet. He'd interrogated her often enough, by all accounts. He'd have to be blind not to have noticed it. No, belay that. What possible experience could Lucao Psellus have had with women? He knew what it meant, though: she'd seen something she wanted, and was wondering what would be the best way to get it. Her rodent look, was how he tended to think of it.
"Can I come with you?" she said.
His own fault, he told himself; should've seen that one coming and prepared for it. Instead, his answer came out half raw, unrehearsed, awkward. "God, I wish you could," he said (overdone; had she noticed? She noticed everything, those dark, twinkling rat eyes, unless it was something she didn't want to see). "Don't think I haven't thought about it," he went on. "Just you and me, getting as far away from here as possible, starting a new life. It wouldn't matter what we did or where we went, we could forget all this…" He broke off, trying to keep his eyes and face soft while he scanned her for signs of suspicion. No; all clear so far. "But we can't," he said. "You'd be missed. You know Psellus has got his eye on you. If you disappeared one day, just like that, we'd have no chance. It's wretched, but…"
"You think they'd come after us?"
No words; just a grim nod.
"But if they close the gates," she said slowly, "seal off the city like you said…"
It was an uncomfortable moment. He was sensible enough, pragmatic enough, to admit straight away that this stupid, common woman had beaten him, tripped up his heels and knocked him down. Stubborn pride and underestimating an opponent wasn't going to break him a second time. "It doesn't work like that," he said, finding a patronising smile from somewhere. "That's what the little gates in the wall are for, the sally-ports; so that scouts and spies and messengers can slip out at night without the enemy seeing."
"Oh," she said, "I see." She was thinking, you could practically see the wheels going round. "But would they bother? I mean, with the war and the siege and everything? Surely it simply doesn't matter that much any more."
He made an effort to moderate his response. "That's not how they'd see it," he said. "Think about it. Vaatzes' wife sneaks out of the City just before the gates close. Obviously they're going to assume you've gone to him, taking plans of the defences with you. There's nowhere on earth you'd be safe. Trust me, I know how they do things. They'd find you, find us, and then…"
She frowned, her head a little on one side, like a dog. "They haven't found you, though," she said. "They looked, for a bit, and then they gave up."
"Because they think I'm with the enemy," he replied, perhaps a shade too quickly. "If they thought I was still here in the City…"
"In that case"-maddening, like arguing with a child's limited, impeccable logic-"in that case, wouldn't you be safer here, inside, if they think you're out there, and they're so good at tracking people down? If you leave, surely that'd be much more dangerous."
He felt as though he was wading in mud: the more you tug to free one foot, the harder you press on the other, the deeper in you sink. So he laughed instead. "It's all right," he said. "It's all arranged. The man you're going to see will get me out safe, and once I'm out I'll go where they can't reach me. But I can't take you as well, because it'd put both of us at risk. And I can't tell you what the arrangements are, just in case Psellus or his people trick you or force you into telling them. If you don't know, you can't tell. I'm sorry if it sounds like I don't trust you, but you know that's not true, I've trusted you with my life all this time, haven't I?" Pause; regroup, redeploy, counterattack. "I'm doing all this for us," he said. "Otherwise… well, I'd just let them catch me and have done with it, save myself the grief and the aggravation of staying alive. You're all I've got, but that's all right, you're all I want, so long as we can keep our nerve, do this right. And then we'll be together and it'll all be over; just as long as you do what I say." Pause; smile. "All right?"