Pattern (18 page)

It was undoubtedly the beer that put him to sleep. He was dreaming about something (but, as always, the dream left him, like someone else's wife at sunrise, before he was fully awake), and then he opened his eyes and realised he was looking straight at a large, unfriendly-looking black bear.

Not so good, Poldarn thought, though it did explain what the hand-axe was for. But the axe was hanging off the saddle of his horse, which was tugging on its reins hard enough to uproot the tree he was leaning against. Whether it was his horse or himself that the bear was taking such an unhealthy interest in he didn't know, but he guessed that this wasn't a guessing game in which it would do to win second prize.

Bears, he thought; according to Eyvind, they were so rare as not to pose a threat worth worrying about; they only came down out of the mountainside forests in atrociously bad winters, when there was nothing left for them to eat, and even then they confined their attention to sick sheep and elderly cows, being too cautious and timid to attack a man unless starvation had made them truly reckless. Of course, if you did happen to run into one in that condition, Polden help you; because when they were that desperate, you could rip their guts open and they'd still keep coming.

Indeed, Poldarn thought; I don't suppose there's much to eat in the forests right now, assuming the forests are still there. He watched the bear coming slowly towards him, weighing up the risks with each cautious stride, assessing the situation with all the scientific wisdom of a prosperous merchant figuring out the trends in malt futures. A dozen paces in, the bear must have reached the conclusion that it was on to a viable commercial proposition, because it started to run at him, unexpectedly fast, bounding in like a big friendly dog. When it was half a dozen paces away, it reared up onto its hind legs and roared, with an expression on its face so furious as to be almost comic.

Damn, Poldarn thought, and jumped to his feet. To his dismay, he realised that he had cramp in his left leg, from sleeping at a clumsy angle; even if a man is capable of outrunning a hungry bear – if Eyvind had briefed him on this aspect of the matter, he couldn't remember the important part – he can't do it with pins and needles in his left foot. That really only left the axe, and he'd left it rather late to go with that option. Getting the axe would mean turning his back on the bear for the best part of a second. He simply didn't have that long. Oh well, he thought; it's probably better to die trying, though by what criteria these matters are judged, he couldn't remember offhand.

He knew he'd made the wrong decision as soon as he tried to move, and felt his left leg buckle under him. That left him kneeling on the ground, the bear out of sight over his shoulder, and he couldn't be bothered to exert himself any further. The bloody thing'll just have to eat me, then, he thought, as his eyes closed instinctively.

Nothing happened, for a whole heartbeat. That was a long time, in this context; long enough to live a whole life in and get to be old enough to grow doddery and forgetful. Then Poldarn heard a sound he couldn't identify: a thick, solid, wet, chunky noise, like the sound of moist dough being slammed on the kneading block. It was followed by a roar from the bear, but with a completely different intonation – anger, mostly, a protest to the heavens that this wasn't fair, that someone was cheating. Then the wet-dough sound again, but culminating in a dull, reverberating thump that Poldarn recognised as an axe driven into cross-grained wood (and instead of splitting the log neatly down the flaw-line, you shudder as the shock reverberates back up your arms and straight into your temples). Then a bewildering silence, for nearly a full half-heartbeat; and finally a dead-weight flump, like a bale of straw tossed down from the hayloft.

He opened his eyes. No bear.

Instead of the bear, he saw a man, standing with his legs apart, knees slightly bent. The man was catching his breath and grinning at Poldarn, as what had clearly been an extreme case of terror gradually thawed. If Poldarn hadn't heard the sounds and known better, he could easily have believed that the bear had changed its shape and turned into this man, because the fellow was unnaturally tall and broad, and his face was completely swamped in a curly black beard.

‘Talk about fucking close,' the man said.

Poldarn found the bear; it was lying on its side, its neck outstretched and its head right back, like a dog asleep in front of the fire. There was a sticky red mess on its right shoulder, extending diagonally downwards about a hand's span. Poldarn looked up at the man, and saw an axe, very like the one whose lack had nearly cost Poldarn his life, lying on the ground at the big fellow's feet.

‘Would've served me right,' the man went on; his voice was unexpectedly high and thin. ‘Missed, didn't I? Aimed for the bugger's head, bounced off the side and nipped him in the shoulder. Lucky the axe didn't stick, or I'd be dead.'

‘You got him, though,' Poldarn whispered.

‘Oh, I got him,' the man replied. ‘He'll keep. But I'm getting too old for this caper, I'm telling you.'

Poldarn frowned. ‘You were hunting it?'

The man nodded. ‘It's my living,' he said. ‘And a bloody stupid way of making one it is, too. Lucky for you, though. Well, for both of us. You kept him occupied, it's half the battle. I don't know you, do I?'

‘I wouldn't have thought so,' Poldarn replied. ‘I haven't been here long.'

The man scowled. ‘Where'd you come from, then?'

‘It's a long story. I was born here but I went away for twenty years. My name's—' He had to think. ‘Ciartan.'

The man shook his head. ‘Doesn't ring any bells. But that doesn't mean anything, I'm not from these parts myself. I'm Boarci, by the way. You won't have heard of me.'

Poldarn laughed. ‘That's true,' he said. ‘But it doesn't mean much. While I was away I lost my memory, all of it, and it hasn't really come back yet.'

‘You don't say.' Boarci shrugged. ‘Heard of cases like that, never really believed them. Course, I don't believe in the marsh pixies either, and it's never seemed to bother them any.' He knelt down and wrestled the bear over onto its back; it took all his strength to do that. ‘Fair-sized animal,' he said, ‘now all I've got to do is dress the bugger out. I hate this job.' He paused, and then looked pointedly at Poldarn's horse. ‘Mind you,' he added, ‘dressing out's a piece of cake compared with lugging the meat to the nearest farm – a man can do himself a serious injury that way. Times like this, I really wish I had a horse.'

The hint was heavier than any bear that ever trod grass. ‘Well,' Poldarn said, ‘since you were kind enough to save my life, the least I can do is give you mine.'

‘Oh.' Boarci looked slightly stunned. ‘Actually, I wasn't meaning that. All I meant was, it'd be real handy if wherever you're going, you wouldn't mind walking and letting my bear ride.'

Poldarn smiled. ‘I know that's what you meant,' he replied, ‘but I think you've earned the horse. Besides,' he added, ‘it isn't mine. Well, not really, it belongs to Haldersness, but everybody keeps telling me it amounts to the same thing, so you're welcome to it.'

‘Haldersness,' Boarci repeated. ‘Can't say as I know it. Close?'

Poldarn jerked his head back. ‘Not far that way. But I was planning on going that way, to Colscegsford.'

Boarci shrugged. ‘Broad as it's long to me, provided they can use some fresh meat at where you said. Doesn't bother me where I go.'

Poldarn nodded. ‘Fine,' he said. ‘Look, excuse me if this sounds ignorant, but am I right in thinking you're a professional hunter?'

‘Yeah.' Boarci laughed; a deep, grumbling noise that seemed to happen somewhere around his navel. ‘That's what I am, a professional hunter. More like, when I can find a bear or a wild ox or something worth eating that's dumb enough to hold still, I bang it on the head and take it on. Folks aren't quite so quick to show you the door if you bring dinner.'

‘I see,' Poldarn exaggerated. ‘So what else do you do apart from hunting, if you don't mind me asking?'

‘I move around a lot,' Boarci replied, pulling a big knife out of the top of his boot and prodding the bear's stomach with a carrot-thick forefinger. ‘If there's any work needs doing, I do it, until my face stops fitting and it's time to move on. I'll be straight with you, most folks don't seem to take to me, they worry when I'm around. Because I'm not settled, see, I don't belong anywhere. This thing with the mountain catching fire's been a godsend, actually; I got a week's work at some farm down the valley digging ditches to carry off flood water, and two days at another place shovelling this black shit out of their yard, and now a bear. I reckon it got pushed out of the forest, they don't hardly ever come up so far as this.'

Poldarn frowned. ‘And when you get to the next farm, you sell the meat, right? Do people actually eat the stuff?'

Another laugh. ‘Now I believe you about the memory thing,' Boarci said. ‘Because if you'd ever had roast bear steaks, you wouldn't have forgotten it in a hurry. Best eating there is, barring spring beef and maybe wine-cooked venison.'

‘Really.' Poldarn shrugged. ‘Well, there's certainly plenty of it there.'

‘You bet. And no, I don't
sell
it, that's not how it's done. I give the farmer the bear, he's more likely to let me stick around a while, find me some work to do. Not always, though. I've had 'em take a bear or a deer, thank you very much, and please close the door on the way out. Bastards,' he added dolefully.

‘It does seem a bit ungrateful,' Poldarn said.

Apparently Boarci had found what he'd been looking for, because he slid the knife in and started sawing. ‘Can't blame 'em, actually. Hell, if I was them, I'd probably set the dogs on me. How're they supposed to know I'm not a whole load of trouble – like, if I'm all right, what'm I doing straggling round all over instead of having a good place on a farm somewhere, like regular people?' He suddenly jerked the knife sideways, putting all his weight behind it. There was a terrific crack, like a branch snapping. ‘Truth is, most of us you come across wandering around, it's because we did something bad or we can't get along with folks, so what do you expect? Course,' he added, wiping blood out of his eyes, ‘I'm not like that. I'm out here on my own because of an unfortunate run of bad luck.'

‘That's what I'd assumed,' said Poldarn mildly.

Boarci rolled up his sleeves and plunged his arms inside the bear's ribcage, right up to the elbows. ‘It was all circumstances beyond my control,' he said sadly. ‘That and a parcel of miserable neighbours who took against me for no reason, and saw fit to believe the worst of me on the strength of hardly any evidence at all. If it hadn't been for that, I'd be back in Ayrichsstead right now, with a nice house of my own and a herd of fat cows. Instead of which,' he added, hauling out a nauseating-smelling armful of bear guts, ‘here I am, crawling up dead animals for a living and sleeping in shepherds' huts. Life can be a real arsehole sometimes.'

‘So I believe,' Poldarn agreed. ‘Well, if you want, you can come and stay with us at Haldersness for as long as you like. If you don't mind working, that is.'

Boarci looked at him over the mound of steaming guts. ‘That's mighty generous of you,' he said, ‘but I won't hold you to it, you not being used to people's ways and all. Thing is, farmers don't take kindly to the hands fetching in strangers off the hill. No offence, but I figure it wouldn't take long for this Halder to pitch me out in the straw, and then I'm back where I started. Thanks all the same,' he added, lifting his horrible burden and staggering a few yards with it before dumping it on the ash.

‘I don't think that'll be a problem,' Poldarn said. ‘You see, Halder's my grandfather, and my father's dead, so I'm sort of next in line. And when I tell him you saved me from a hungry bear, I don't think he'll be in any hurry to turn you away.'

‘Well.' Boarci frowned. ‘If you reckon there might be work going over your place—'

‘Positive,' Poldarn interrupted. ‘If you don't mind raking ash all day long. I think they'd be glad of the help.'

‘You don't say,' Boarci muttered pensively. ‘So, if there's all this needing doing at your place, can I ask what you think you're doing out here?'

‘Visiting my future in-laws,' Poldarn answered. ‘Which is just a polite way of saying they're so sick to the teeth of me having to have everything explained a dozen times, and getting under their feet when they're working, they bundled me off to be in the way somewhere else. Besides,' he added, ‘they're much closer to the mountain, so I expect Grandfather was worried about how they're coping.'

‘Right,' Boarci said, as he teased a bloody pink leg out of its skin. ‘You're basically no bloody good round the farm, so when their best neighbour's in trouble, they send you. Guess I must've missed something basic along the way.'

Poldarn hadn't thought of it in those terms. ‘I don't know,' he said. ‘You'll just have to figure it out for yourself,' he went on. ‘And besides, it doesn't matter what prompted them to send me. All that matters in the long run is what I actually do while I'm there.'

Boarci nodded. ‘Can't argue with that,' he said. A moment later he stood up, bending his back and drawing away as he did so. The bear's pelt came off like a tight wet shirt. ‘Not so bad,' he gasped, as he paused to let his lungs catch up with the rest of him. ‘Look, about the horse.'

‘Yours,' Poldarn said firmly. ‘I said that and I meant it. There's plenty more where that came from. If you do come and stay with us, mind you, I can promise you you'll earn it twice over. Raking ash is a back-breaking job, so they tell me.'