Nights of Villjamur (20 page)

'You received notification of our arrival?'

'Indeed,' Ardune said. She blinked several times in the wind, as she looked back over his shoulder towards the other three men.

Brynd tactfully drew his cloak over his sword. 'And does the Lady Rika know what has been happening?'

'She's been told very little, but has been waiting inside the temple for some time now.'

'Right,' Brynd said. 'Well, I'm here to return her to Villjamur. We must leave as soon as possible.'

'You're taking her away then,' Ardune said. 'Just like that?'

'She has a role to fulfil, priestess,' Brynd explained. 'We can't always choose what we want to do in life.'
And I myself know all about that.

'Indeed not, commander, but you cannot simply
take
her. She has a life here, you understand?'

'Yes, I do,' Brynd continued, trying to be sensitive to the priestess's feelings. 'However, she's been enjoying a quiet life here because of who she is. If she was a native, or simply a peasant, she'd never have been able to live in such a privileged position. Well, now the time's come for who she is to really matter. You understand, it's not just a few priestesses that this matters to - it's an entire Empire?'

Something faded in her eyes then, conceding defeat. 'Quite. Well, please be sensitive. She's a person, not just a title.'

'Of course I will. Remember, I'm the one who has to tell her about her father. I promise I'll not crush her.'

Ardune appeared to have a genuine affection for Rika. Still, Brynd didn't know what to make of her, since he wasn't one to trust the mind of a Jorsalir. Not that they were untrustworthy in themselves, more that they had conditioned their minds to think on a different level, to question the world in a way no one else did. It gave them an air of superiority that he felt was unjustified.

Ardune led him inside the temple.

Rika's room contained minimal furniture, a few parchments on the wall, faded through exposure to sunlight, fabrics smelling of dried lavender, darkened limestone, a small burning fire in the corner. If there was indeed Bohr or Astrid up there, Brynd assumed they didn't much care for elaborate furnishings.

She was sitting on a chest, Rika, staring out of a narrow arched window, a book forgotten on her lap. This was clearly Eir's sister, although her face was more slender, making her cheekbones jut out unattractively. Her black hair was tied back plainly - no style in her appearance, no finesse.

'Jamur Rika, Sele of Jamur, I am Commander Brynd Lathraea and I have some . . . bad news for you, I fear.' He hesitated. 'Your father, Emperor Johynn - I'm afraid he passed away some few days ago.'

'Oh,' Rika replied. No emotion in her voice, nothing whatsoever. 'Why, thank you for telling me this. It really is very kind of you to journey all this way.'

Brynd held her gaze as if to work out what was happening in her mind. She appeared to be barely disturbed by the bad news. He may as well have just told her it was going to rain today. He knew she had problems with her father, which was why she had spent the last few years in exile here. Was that her anger forcing out any other emotions? Or was it her religious training, her perfectly controlled mind making her emotionally dead?

'The Council of Villjamur have nominated you as the one to inherit all that was your father's, since you're his eldest blood relative. You realize what this means?'

She met his gaze with silence, with a cold stare - no, a neutral stare, nothing in it. This girl seemed the embodiment of emptiness.

'Jamur Rika, you're to become Empress,' Brynd said. 'Ruler of the Jamur Empire, its nations, its people. I'm here, therefore, at the request of the Council, to escort you back to Villjamur immediately.'

She stood, gazing out of the window again - at the sea, the clouds. Gulls screamed as they accelerated upwards. More life in the natural environment than her reactions. 'And what choice do I have in the matter?'

'Honestly?' Brynd said.

'Yes.'

'Very little.' He sighed. 'You have a duty.'

'I also have a life
here
, commander.'

'Yes, that's not gone unnoticed,' Brynd said, with a step towards her. He followed her gaze to a wild cat out on the grass below. It was ripping into a gull, blood covering the victim's white wings that were half-extended, broken. 'Strong cats you have here, for it to bring down a gull.'

'Indeed,' she said. 'Everything here is that little bit more . . . wild.'

'Nature's creatures learn to cope in any conditions presented to them.'

'It depends, of course, on what exactly those conditions are,' Rika said.

Silence followed yet again, while Brynd stood next to her, hoping that this proximity might symbolize to her that he was at her side in more than just the physical sense. He watched the skies begin to bleed snow. Winds blew in stronger, the wall hangings rattled.

'I'll come with you,' she sighed. 'Just give me a moment to get ready.'

*

Apium hurled a pebble into the sea some distance away from the
Black Frieter
. It vanished from sight long before it pierced the water, lost in the eruptions caused by surf beating granite.

'Well, at least she's coming willingly,' Nelum said, trying to light his pipe against the strong wind. He was failing miserably. 'And, when she eventually strolls down here, we can embark and get her back home. And then we can put our feet up for a while.'

Brynd glanced over at Apium.

'We can put our feet up for a bit, can't we?' Nelum said, examining their glances worriedly. He placed the unlit pipe back in his pocket.

'Not exactly, no,' Brynd confessed. 'Chancellor Urtica has informed me of some strange occurrences further north, and we've to protect the Empire by investigating. It's serious, according to eye-witness accounts. There have been reports of extensive killings, and it's up to us to establish order, and to give the local populace reassurance.'

'So why not send the Dragoons to investigate?' Lupus asked. 'Why send the elite soldiers?'

'Lad's got a point there, Brynd,' Apium said.

'Elite soldiers are required, and we've skills and training superior to the ordinary standards of the army. We in the Night Guard have access to some cultist-enhanced weaponry. After all, we're cultist-enhanced ourselves, let's not forget. And we possess better swords, bows that fire more accurately. And, anyway, I doubt that the sight of a massive army traipsing across the tundra would inspire any confidence that all is calm. It's easier to move in small groups, so I want one or two units with us, a couple of hundred soldiers at most.'

'Maybe the armies are needed elsewhere,' Nelum stated, his mind working ahead, processing all the possibilities.

'Not without my knowing,' Brynd said. 'You forget I've command of all the Empire's armies.'

'So now we're to be galloping around after three-cocked unicorns,' Apium grumbled.

'We don't know what these creatures are yet,' Brynd said. 'Unicorns or not, we shall go and investigate.'

'Aye, maybe you're right.' Apium chuckled. 'Look, here's our Lady Rika.'

As the sun rose lazily over Villjamur, Investigator Rumex Jeryd left his house in the Kaiho district. He walked past Gulya Gata, down alongside the irens near Gata du Quercus, Hotel Villjamur, and the inn called the Dryad's Saddle. There were a few eccentric shops down this way, high-end purveyors of drugs and erotica, where you could apparently find 'love potions' conducive to controlled rape. Nothing like as described in romantic songs, and why the potions were allowed, he had no idea. That was Villjamur for you - as long as you had enough money you could get whatever you wanted, and to hell with ethics. You could wander these streets and become defined by your fetishes.

In the shadows of high walls, where the road curved down to the right, the kids of Gamall Gata were already waiting for him. From the top of the street you could clearly see the two main culprits, the two that were always there, each maybe ten years old, a blond and a redhead, layered up with warm clothing, thick gloves on, and with snowballs ready in their palms. Jeryd stared hard at the kids - he had to make them wonder for a moment if this was a mistake.

They did not.

The snowballs came arcing through the air, but exploded too short, smashed at his feet, and he smiled. 'Not today, lads.'

He turned, sniffed the chill air, began to walk away--

- A snowball slapped his head.

Bastards.

He could see the blond and the redhead running off, their arms windmilling with excitement, the others nowhere to be seen, then all that was left was the echo of laughter as snow dripped off Jeryd's head.

*

Robes wrapped tight around him, snowballs nowhere to be seen, Jeryd proceeded along one of the lesser-known paths of the city, his breath clouding in front of his face like a ghost that wouldn't leave him alone.

He ran what few details there were of Delamonde Ghuda's murder over and over in his mind. The case was particularly difficult because the number of people who might have a motive to murder the councillor were high. So, a high-profile death, and such a cruel way of dying.

The only likely cause could have been use of a relic, so that made a cultist the most likely suspect. But in general, cultists seemed to have no use for councillors, considered that they operated at a level above government. Above everyone else, in fact. And because of their valuable services in military campaigns, cultists tended to remain on good terms with those high up in Villjamur. So no, a cultist didn't seem likely after all, although he still had to consider them.

He would have to penetrate the Council Atrium to find out what projects Ghuda was working on before he was killed. It must have been something significant, if his murder was the best way to stall it.

And what about the woman, Tuya, who was the last person to see him alive? Nor was he looking forward to confronting Ghuda's wife to explain how he had spent his final night on earth.

On top of all of this, he was due to meet with his own wife, Marysa, this evening. And how was he going to persuade her to come back to him?

What a day.

Tryst had arranged to meet him later. The young human was currently 'interrogating' a man suspected of burglary that had taken place in a street in Caveside. Jeryd let him get on with it on his own, because torture was something Tryst was good at - and it wouldn't necessarily be physical. Tryst had a gift for mental torture, would frequently have the suspect in fits of tears or else exploding with rage. Either way, he got what he wanted, which suited Jeryd fine so long as it was conducted within the legal guidelines. You had to do things by the book or those higher up would use it against you, some day when you happened to fall out of favour.

Jeryd loved this side of the city. He was now standing just beyond the Astronomer's Glass Tower, its bizarre octagonal structure towering above him, its expanses of glass capturing a rare moment of red sunlight that was trying to penetrate the cloud and mist. This side of Villjamur was certainly preferable to the neighbourhood adjoining the caves. Unfortunately, most of his cases inevitably led to Caveside. Living conditions were terrible there, back where poverty was kept hidden out of sight. Inferior sanitation pervaded the area with a constant stench, though many might think it preferable to being locked outside the city.

Armed with questions, he approached a little house virtually hidden amongst its neighbours. Despite being so central within the city, people usually walked straight past the place as if they didn't want to see, without even knowing they were doing so. Its inconspicuous metal door was set in smooth pale stone. He knocked firmly and waited, and it was eventually opened by a raven-haired woman, her long, thin face pallid and gaunt.

She was a banshee.

'Morning. Investigator Rumex Jeryd. I have a few questions.'

'Yes, of course.' Her voice was soothingly deep as they always were - unless they were screaming. 'Please, do come in.'

Jeryd stepped inside her fragrant home, drawing his tail in behind him so that it didn't get caught in the heavy door. The house was intensely dark, the smell of lavender powerful. He'd been here several times before, and on each visit he wished they had put in a window to let in some daylight and fresh air. Coloured lanterns burned, as did a small log fire. There were several women ranging from young to old, all wearing black, grey or white fabrics. They were sitting on chairs placed randomly throughout the house. All of them had similar gaunt faces, similar mannerisms. Some were reading or studying, others were weaving material. There was a claustrophobia here amongst these women, maybe sisters and mothers or something closer still, as if they were suffocating in unison, tightening their bonds on each other as they suffered. He never understood, or commented on their situation.

'Please, be seated, investigator,' the woman said. 'I'll go and fetch Mayter Sidhe.'

She left the room.

Jeryd sat himself down on a simple wooden chair. The furniture here was rustic - as if they couldn't afford anything else. It seemed out of place for a home so near the Astronomer's Tower and the richer irens, but maybe it had been here from generations ago. A few of the women hummed gently, rocking back and forth in their chairs as if mildly insane: not a comforting noise, more an eerie lament. Paranoia forced him to wonder vaguely if this meant he would die at any point soon, as if just being around them was putting him a step closer.