Episode 56

Brother Peine

I wake in the park, dawn only just breaking.

Still nothing.

Why can’t I remember?

As on that first morning, I’m wearing sturdy brown trousers and a ripped white shirt, now washed. In my pocket is a small stone, which I turn over and over in my hand. It’s granite, a riverstone or beachstone. How I know this, I don’t know. But I’m sure. It’s semi-regular, grey, smooth except for a dimple or crease that looks a bit like an eye, polished. It means something, but what, exactly, I don’t know. There’s nothing obviously special about it. Except that it’s not red. Maybe I just liked it.

Someone on the corner mentions the stupid tortoise and everyone laughs. I ignore them, keep my head down, continue down the street, hands in my pockets. I still can’t speak much Akašan. I speak a dialect of Laudanese. No one seems to know it, but it’s close enough to standard Laudanese, which some of the merchants speak. I know a few words in other languages, words to do with ropes, practical things. It seems likely I was a sailor. I’m a sailor. Am I?

I’m still not sure about ‘Droma’. I can’t even remember if I said it was my name, or if someone gave it to me. The first few days or weeks are foggy. I remember the woman, a room, the temple, the now familiar well. Sensations. A man shouting at me. Some of the words people said. I know those ones. I’ve been sleeping in the park for a while now. I wait until late, after everyone has left and the lamps have burned themselves out. The patrols know I’m there, but after speaking to me a couple of times they’ve left me alone.

Brother Peine is on the street up ahead. I’ve been talking to him lately. The priest is dressed in white robes and, despite the bone-soaking heat, wears a fur cap. Of course, at the time I didn’t realise who he was.

“Pay attention,” he says. “This place is not as it seems.”