Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series (44 page)

‘You all right Pav?’ he
asked. ‘You got a fever coming on? Saw you shiver just
now.’

‘Nah. I’m fine. Felt a
draught from Simert’s Gate is all.’

The ghost who had
caused Pav’s shiver fled the Citadel, making for Gossamer Tewk’s
house in the Artisan Quarter. He whirled and paced among the
gnarled orchard trees, telling other ghosts what he’d witnessed.
Many of their original number were gone, vanished when the woman
Tika entered and left the Citadel through a Dark gateway. Many more
had gathered at this house now. Word had spread through the strange
community of ghosts, and large numbers had come here for various
reasons. Some thought they might have a chance at last of wreaking
vengeance upon their killers. Others were simply nosey. A minority
suspected something of far greater import was happening in Kelshan,
in which they might be able to play a part.

Drengle List watched
them from his bedroom window. A sudden rain storm had swept in from
the sea but it had no effect on the swirling confusion of misty
grey shapes in his garden. He wondered what was exciting them now,
then firmly put the thought from his mind. Bound to be trouble, and
he didn’t like trouble. He stuck a finger into one of the pots he’d
taken from Snail and contemplated the dark purple grease. He smiled
and picked up the mirror again. He drew a wavy line across his
forehead. Hmm. That made him look scary all right.

Drengle heard the
kitchen door bang and a scowl replaced the smile. A milling throng
of ghosts surged into his room, their agitation making his skin
prickle. He glared.

‘You know you’re not
allowed in here,’ he yelled. ‘Go on, get out.’

The ghosts streamed
around him and he felt a definite tugging.

‘All right. I’ll come
downstairs. But you are not to come in here again.’

He wiped his finger on
his bare chest, picked up his chain and stumped heavily down to the
kitchen.

‘I know you’re bothered
about something, but I’m not playing guessing games any more. All
those people turned up last time and I don’t like
people.’

He sat down and folded
his arms, the chain in a tangle on his lap. The ghosts fussed and
crowded but Drengle shook his head.

‘I’m not guessing. I
don’t want to know.’ He had a sudden sensation of ice cold water
pouring over his head and back and he leaped to his feet, the chain
clanking to the floor.

‘Don’t you dare,’ he
roared. ‘You’re welcome here as long as you behave, but I won’t put
up with no tricks like that.’

Most of the ghosts
rushed out into the rain and Drengle sat down again, muttering to
himself. He watched three or four, it was hard to tell exactly how
many, blurred as they were, hovering by the cook stove.

‘I don’t want to know,’
he insisted, and those remaining ghosts seemed to fade a bit.
That’s told them, he thought with satisfaction.

But the ones who’d left
the kitchen were creeping back in, writhing round the table like
wisps of smoke. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun and a
pale sun gleamed through the dirty window. One of the ghosts darted
to the window and made great efforts to smear some words through
the grime. Drengle watched with interest as the other ghosts
gathered – it seemed an immense effort for them to form a single
mark on the glass. He sang a nursery rhyme while he waited, one
he’d always been fond of.

Eventually the ghosts
drew away from the window and stared intently at Drengle. He got to
his feet, approached the window and shook his head at the lines and
squiggles on it. He looked back at the ghosts, his blue filed teeth
exposed in a huge smile.

‘Can’t read,’ he said
smugly.

The kitchen seemed to
explode with the ghosts’ fury. Drengle List gathered up his chain
and hurried back up to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He
sat on his bed and giggled, while below in the kitchen a maelstrom
of ghosts churned in simmering anger at the incredible stupidity of
their landlord, and a desperate yearning for the return of the
woman who was able to communicate with them – Tika.

Veranta had just sat
down at her desk when a scribe appeared. He announced that Captain
Mettich was waiting in the side gallery. Veranta sighed.

‘He’s early. Very well,
send him in.’

Heels clicked on the
stone floor and then snapped together as the officer saluted his
Imperatrix. ‘My lady.’

Veranta leaned back in
her chair, studying the man. Only a few years younger than herself,
he would have been considered handsome but for the two scars
running in jagged lines from his left temple to the corner of his
mouth. No doubt he told stories of how he’d received those scars,
fighting the wild clans or pirates. But Veranta remembered that
he’d been before a court martial. A drunken brawl in a dockside
brothel and a whore smashing broken glass into his face. She
smiled.

‘Captain. Do sit down.’
She found the ambassadors’ offensive letter of complaint and
skimmed over it.

‘There seems to be some
trouble on the clan borders again,’ she said. ‘Someone’s been
taking women and children as prisoners. A pointless
exercise.’

The Captain even sat at
attention, she noted with amusement. ‘Prisoners need to be fed and
guarded. An unnecessary expense in my view, and occupying guards
who would be of far more use in the field. I will have signed
orders sent to your quarters very shortly. You will take command,
dispose of these “prisoners” and put paid to any idea of insurgency
by the local clans. Prepare to leave as swiftly as
possible.’

She gave a nod which
the Captain correctly interpreted as a dismissal, and waited for
him to leave. When he did, Veranta heard his voice greeting someone
in the corridor and pursed her lips. Beslow. Well, better he was
occupied here than had time to learn what task she’d set
Mettich.

‘General.’ She raised
her voice.

General Beslow entered
the office and saluted. ‘You have particular duties for Captain
Mettich my lady?’ asked Beslow politely.

‘Indeed.’ Veranta
smiled, having no intention of giving any further explanation. ‘You
have considered what I told you at our last meeting I trust,
General?’ She waved him to the chair just vacated by Captain
Mettich.

‘I have,’ replied
Beslow. He too could play the game of vague answers.

Veranta’s lips thinned.
‘And your opinion of course concurs with mine.’

A silence
fell.

‘My opinion is of no
account my lady.’

‘I am asking you
General, for your view on this matter.’ Although Veranta’s face
remained calm, there was no hiding the anger in her
voice.

‘I believe this
invasion of yours to be a truly terrible mistake my lady.’ Beslow’s
tone was measured and steady. ‘I have a feeling those four thousand
men are already lost, prisoners if not dead.’

‘How dare you?’ Veranta
was on her feet, her face pale and pinched.

General Beslow gave a
slight shrug of one shoulder. ‘You ordered me to give you my
opinion my lady. Surely you understood there must be some reason
that we have never forced our way into those mountains? Yet the
folk who live within their shadow, have no fear of something
charging down upon them. I, and your father, believed that there
must have been some sort of agreement, thousands of years ago.
Provided we made no advances beyond the foothills, nothing would
advance on us. Even the pirate fleets do not sail further south
than the Barrier Cape. No my lady. I do not think we will see those
men again.’

Veranta saw her
wonderful vision smashed to little pieces in her mind but she also
felt that Beslow’s words, utterly unwelcome though they were, held
the ring of absolute certainty. Heartbeats passed while Veranta
stared down at the General. Then she drew a deep breath and seated
herself again. Her hands on the desk were clenched into fists but
her voice was calm.

‘If this has happened,
our men lost to the Dark Realm, is it likely they will retaliate
against us?’

Again General Beslow
gave a slight shrug. ‘My lady, I can only hope that the people of
that Realm wish to keep their privacy. I am quite sure that they
could have made some sort of contact with us over all these years.
They have chosen not to.’

Veranta forced her
fists to relax while her thoughts raced. She cleared her throat and
met the General’s gaze.

‘You heard that my
daughters’ tutor was murdered last night?’

Beslow nodded. Quickly,
the Imperatrix described the state of Ternik’s corpse and went on
to explain what she had witnessed in the infirmary only a short
time earlier today. Beslow’s interest was immediately apparent. He
leaned forward.

‘The healer who
survived, have you had him questioned?’

Veranta shook her head.
‘He is an anatomist I think, not a healer. He had no injuries –
none of them did. But it sounded as though he had a spring ague –
tired, aching.’ She frowned, thinking back. ‘He said his body felt
wrong.’

The General got hastily
to his feet. ‘I will have the outside of that section of the
infirmary checked and watched, and with your permission my lady I
will try to question this survivor.’

He was gone in the
instant and Veranta sat back, rubbing her aching head with the heel
of her hand. Two scribes entered with an elderly man dressed in
plain, but very expensive clothes. They all bowed and Veranta
gritted her teeth. The Master of Ceremonies, come to go over every
tedious detail of Mellia’s funeral rites. Veranta wondered vaguely
why the stupid girl had killed herself, but dismissed the thoughts
as a useless waste of time. Another thought crossed her mind – that
she now needed an heir. But that would have to wait.

Daylight had
disappeared by the time the Master of Ceremonies was satisfied that
every aspect of Mellia’s funeral had been discussed, argued over,
and finally settled. No sooner had he departed with the scribes and
their stack of copious notes, than General Beslow reappeared.
Veranta was not pleased to see him. She was tired, hungry and
irritable.

‘I have questioned the
anatomist Tomin my lady.’ Beslow sat without invitation.

Veranta noted, with a
certain petulant pleasure, that the old General looked as tired as
she felt. She raised a brow, waiting for him to
continue.

‘He seemed – vague –
when I first spoke to him. Confused. As though he had a concussion
perhaps. But the healers assured me he had no injuries, no bumps on
his head, which might have accounted for this near delirium. He had
no fever. I have spent most of this day with him my lady, or
watching him through the observation window.’

‘Is he still
confused?’

General Beslow took his
time before he answered. ‘No. In fact, he’s been released and says
he’s able to resume his duties.’

‘But you have doubts
about him.’ Veranta’s tone was flat; a statement not a
question.

‘I do my lady. I have
arranged that he be closely watched without his knowledge. He isn’t
what he seems.’

Beslow’s face now
showed open worry which was enough for Veranta to feel a first
frisson of nervousness herself. The General stood
wearily.

‘I have ordered your
guards be doubled my lady. There is something very wrong within
this Citadel. Two of your children gone without trace, their tutor
murdered. I will be at the guard post on the main landing of this
floor if you should need me tonight.’

Veranta nearly laughed
aloud: it sounded as though the old man was offering himself as a
bedfellow. She schooled her expression to gravity and
nodded.

‘I appreciate your
concern General.’ She got to her feet too. ‘I will be in my suite
now, until the morning.’

They left Veranta’s
office together and she saw in the scribes’ room three new guards
beside the outer door. As four more guards swung in behind her,
Veranta realised General Beslow intended to accompany her to her
suite himself.

‘I beg your indulgence
my lady, but I would prefer to check your rooms before you
enter.’

Veranta folded her arms
and leaned against the wall. ‘As you please General.’

Turning to the door he
paused. ‘How many personal staff have access?’

‘Four maids, a cook, a
kitchen helper and two male servants. The staff door opens on the
next floor down.’

Beslow nodded and
entered her rooms, a guard at his side. Veranta heard squeaks of
alarm from a couple of her maids, then Beslow’s voice calming them.
The Imperatrix was growing impatient by the time Beslow
emerged.

‘Thank you my lady.
Your rooms are safe. Guards will be stationed at the lower exit and
patrols are also doubled throughout the Citadel now.’

‘You are most efficient
General. I feel completely secure.’

Beslow disregarded the
hint of sarcasm and merely nodded. ‘Sleep well, my
lady.’

The General started
back along the corridor. Veranta’s door had closed, three guards
taking position before it, when Beslow glanced sharply to his left.
The corridor was deserted, but his flesh tingled with chill beneath
his shirt. He frowned and went quickly down to the guard post where
he’d taken up residence.