I first encountered Léoc Lin on the Engineer’s Road, near the black arch, at the edge of the wood that lies between the provinces and the capital.
It’s a notorious spot; everyone breaks down there. The white-chalk soil gives way to black slate, and the road, just there, is paved with black bricks. This road, having run for some distance under shade, along the cool green waters of the canal, turns aside to bake in the hot provincial sun, and then to climb the ancient black arch to the narrow road that runs through the wood.
Look, I'm as superstitious as anyone, but not about this. Heat rises, the sun bakes the slate and the black-glazed bricks. By midday, the sparse belt of trees gives no shade, and only banks the breeze when there is one. You must time it, as any provincial traveler knows, so that you are well past the black arch before the sun reaches its zenith. Of course this means rising well before dawn . . .
Which, well, they hadn’t.
