Nights of Villjamur (23 page)

Somewhere I might recover my immortality once again.

People showed signs of moving around the city out of context. They arrived places late, routines were disrupted, because normal routes were blocked in places. More time was needed to navigate the usual paths, and it was as if everyone had now come out of their homes simply in defiance of the longest winter they'd ever know. For many humans this extended season would be the last they would ever see. For rumel there was a greater chance of seeing the summer again, to watch for that moment when the trees and plants would explode with life.

Jeryd was annoyed that people kept stopping suddenly, right in front of him. More than once he considered delivering a small admonitory slap to someone's head. It was always here they tended to pause, gazing around at the old Azimuth-inspired architecture, the smaller domes and intricate sandstone squares that contradicted the rest of the later additions to the city, which rose generally taller, and were hacked out of local limestone. Still, he liked the feeling of the snow under his boots, that crisp compaction.

Home to a lot of the oldest shops in the city, this street was a haven for antique dealers, traders in exotic products, spice dealers. On one side stood three cheap hotels. But things changed significantly at night: the street in front became the hang-out for dealers of less respectable substances. Quick hand movements in the moonlight, and something illegal was exchanged at an extravagant price. It was where you might meet a cultist who needed quick money, and some said that you could buy weird animals, sleek-looking hybrids, but Jeryd had never seen any in all his years.

As Jeryd headed down a narrow side alley, memories came flooding back of regularly accompanying Marysa here when they were both much younger. He couldn't think of the last time she'd actually held his hand, but when they were still in love she'd drag him along to look at all those items that appealed to her. He was once so keen to learn about her interests, to discover more about her. It must have been over a hundred years ago when he first started coming down this way, waiting outside the shops in the sun, enjoying a moment to himself as she rustled around inside. He still wanted to hold on to the idea of his being with Marysa, even if things didn't work out this time. Perhaps, in his old age, he was becoming sentimental, like humans did. Perhaps there were fewer differences between the two hominid species than anyone cared to admit.

Stepping over a bolting rat, Jeryd entered one particular antique store that looked familiar, and the door chime rang. His eyes adjusted to the murkiness, taking in piles of antiques stacked awkwardly wherever you looked, suggesting that one misjudged step on an uneven floorboard would bring about an expensive catastrophe. An old woman was standing behind the counter, while another stood with her back turned about ten armspans away. They looked identical, both in similar over-dresses, the sorts with floral patterns like the ones you used to see about thirty years ago, but now faded from over-washing. Nick-nacks and ornaments spilled on the floor amid random furniture. Strange instruments, pottery, art were propped up against any available wall space. Desperately, he hoped there were no spiders under all these objects waiting for him: because arachnids were this tough investigator's hidden shame.

Jeryd stepped carefully around the large room searching for something that might appeal to Marysa, some small token to impress her, to show her that he still loved her. Was there possibly one item that could do all that on its own? Probably not. He tried desperately to think about the things she used to like, cursing his inability to make a decision. He scratched his head as he leaned over tables, picking up items, replacing them immediately.

Ever so slowly he started to mumble in frustration.

'Talking to yourself, investigator? Maybe she'd like some of the brass instruments over there. They're enough to pique the interest of the most ardent collector.'

Tuya was wearing a light-blue robe, a colour rarely favoured in current fashions, with a straw hat tilted down over the side of her face. He tried not to let his vision linger on her lissom figure, which could be noted despite her thick clothing. Pouting lips, all cheekbones and soft edges, there was an uncomfortable intensity about this woman.

'You said your wife collected antiques, so you're here to buy her something, aren't you?'

She fingered a wooden statuette by her side. 'You should at least consider some of the items over there. There're some fine nautical gadgets.'

Tuya led him away.

She explained the various items to him in a way that unsettled him, though he couldn't work out exactly why. Maybe because he remembered similar times with Marysa. He wondered if it was wrong to be talking so casually, and made the decision to be wary of her charms. Greater rumel in the Inquisition than himself had succumbed to feminine wiles.

A musky smell in these rooms, the stale aroma of time having passed, the remains of forgotten civilizations. He found it odd that people should want to collect many such items, even though they did not know their original purpose. He thought about what objects he owned himself, and if in a thousand years they would each become a mere ornament on a rich lady's dresser. Perhaps some of the shit scrapers he used to flush out of the gutters would become some gift to charm a pretty girl. He smiled at the thought.

Tuya continued to point out and describe things, but his mind began drifting to his own past again.

'Rumex, you're not listening, are you? How're you ever going to win a woman's favour if you don't pay attention while she's talking?'

'I always did when she was around,' he said, a little annoyed. What business was it of Tuya's anyway? Did she get her kicks from sifting through other people's lives? 'Well, maybe I wasn't a very
good
partner.'

'But you could be,' she said.

'And you could tell me how?'

'So long as you don't mind talking about such intimate things with a murder suspect.'

The pressures of his personal life were beginning to distract him from his job for the Inquisition. Yet above all he needed to sort out his private life. It felt uncomfortable to be here with her, but every minute he spent with her, he might be able to observe her closely, find out who this secretive woman was, and, more importantly, to probe her further about her involvement with Ghuda. 'No, it's fine. Just don't take it personally if I'm obliged to arrest you later,' he said, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

She seemed to like that. 'Of course. Besides, because I spend a lot of time alone, I could do with the company. In my time, I've listened to a lot of men talk - and let me tell you, men do talk, if only to the right woman. You know my profession, so I get to peek into a lot of lives, see a lot of destruction - the amount of hidden secrets and lies that keep a partnership intact . . .' She looked intently at a small metal clock and picked it up. 'And, besides, I'm just making my living doing something I enjoy. If they didn't come to me for their kicks, they'd only go elsewhere. I'm not the problem - just a symptom.'

'No one suggested you
were
a problem,' Jeryd observed bashfully.

She put the clock down, tucked a loose strand of red hair behind her ear. 'Anyway, what I'm saying is I know quite a bit about relationships.' She laughed to herself, some hidden irony perhaps. 'Yet I myself have never held one together. But, I'd like to think I could help you. And your partner obviously had good tastes.' She gazed at Jeryd intensely.

He looked away awkwardly.

'Relax, investigator,' she said, laughing. 'I meant she liked quality
antiques
.'

'I know that,' Jeryd said, defensively.

'You shouldn't take things so seriously. You're so full of melancholy. I think you work too hard. What would you do if you didn't work?'

Jeryd frowned. 'I'm not sure really.'

'It's scary for some people to think what they'd do if they didn't have to work constantly. I think that's why many do work so much: because they're frightened of stopping.'

'What's all this got to do with helping me get Marysa back?'

'Because you've probably put your work ahead of her most of the time when she needed care and attention. You didn't listen to her enough. You didn't make her feel special. You therefore never earned the right to be loved. I dare say you worked so hard because you didn't feel comfortable loving her.'

'Compliments corner, this,' Jeryd muttered dryly.

'It's a reality check,' she said. 'I can tell by your face that I've hit a nerve.'

'Maybe you have. Look, I'm meeting her tonight. What could I do to . . .
seduce
her?'

She proceeded to give him some advice at length.

It was as if the secrets of womankind were being revealed to him.

He even had to make notes.

'So,' he said, after being numbed into silence by her advice, 'what should I get Marysa as a present?'

'A good-quality antique, one that could also be thought of as a relic. It'll arouse her curiosity, will mystify her, play on her mind. You must be on her mind
always
.'

'Of course.' Jeryd folded his arms, leaned back, playing it cool. Yes, he could appear confident, he could persuade Marysa to come back to him. This seducing business was clearly a breeze. 'You're pretty clued-up on all this stuff.'

'I know.' She seemed satisfied with the compliment.

Turning to what he was genuinely more confident about, Jeryd risked another attempt to dig for information, now that she was more at ease with him. 'So how did you really get to know Delamonde Ghuda?'

'You don't ever ease up on the work front, do you?' she said.

'My lunch hour is over, I fear.'

'I met him in a tavern, Rumex. That's all. He's just one more handsome man I went to bed with. A man I wanted to sleep with out of choice. Not a crime, is it?'

It should be
, he thought, but then he didn't really understand his personal feelings in this. As a rumel who was out of touch with the way the modern world worked, he often understood himself even less than he did others.

*

Dusk, and standing outside of the Bistro Juula. Jeryd stared up at the pterodette that had narrowly missed excreting on him. The little reptile flew up to perch on the roof, looking down at him.

'Not on these robes, you won't, my friend,' Jeryd said confidently, empowered by the advice of another woman.

Antique present tucked under his arm, carefully wrapped. He wore fine silk robes, in black, over a white silk undershirt with matching handkerchief. The outfit had cost him nearly a Jamun. He had shaved with an expensive blade earlier on, too. Consequently the breeze felt chillingly fresh against his smooth cheek, despite his thick rumel skin. He had even - though he would never admit this to anyone else serving in the Inquisition - scented his white hair with fragrant oils.

I may stink like a tart's dressing table, but every little helps.

He tried to remember everything Tuya had told him. He had reread his notes a dozen times, and it put him in mind of those Inquisition entrance exams, back in his youth.

Jeryd cast an eye at the nearby clock tower. She was bound to keep him waiting - she always did. He felt nervous, as if this was their first date. The sky was darkening fast, the tall buildings becoming even blacker against it. Birds and pterodettes arced hypnotically above the countless spires. Lanterns were being lit along the street, their coloured glow catching the limestone. Sandalwood incense wafted from one of the taverns further upwind. Maybe he was going soft, but he thought the scene rather romantic.

There she was, Marysa, walking slowly along the path to meet him, hips swinging slightly as she came up the hill, and his heart was beginning to race. She caught his eye as she came closer, then looked at the ground. For a moment neither of them said anything. Her elegant, black robe was slightly darker than her skin, with a coloured scarf wrapped around her neck. Her white hair was tied up with something that sparkled, no doubt some current fashion he wasn't aware of, and the coloured make-up around her eyes opened up her face in new ways. Her tail swayed back and forth sinuously.

'Hello,' Jeryd gulped. 'You look incredible.'

'Thank you,' she said. 'And I like your new robe.'

He hadn't heard it for so long, that soothing voice. 'Oh, this is for you,' he forced himself to say, handing over the present. 'Just a little something you might be interested in.' He tried not to contain his eagerness as he urged, 'Go on, open it.'

She unwrapped it quietly, and her face lit up. The gift was small, possibly some ancient navigational device, only a hand-span wide, with an intricate mechanism.

'An antique,' she said in awe. 'Looks almost like a relic.'

Jeryd stood back, arms folded, feeling pleased with himself. 'Should keep you busy for a few days trying to work out what it is.'

'It's really wonderful.' She kissed him on the cheek, a gesture that could have meant anything, so he tried not to interpret it with wishful thinking.

'Now, shall we?' Jeryd indicated the nearby bistro.

*

After a deep initial awkwardness, the night went better than he could have imagined. He
actually listened
to her for the first time in years. Her main focus these days turned out to be ancient architectures - particularly newly discovered remains of the Azimuth Empire, undergoing restoration work here and there. She told him at length of the ancient Azimuth civilization: the great causeways now strewn under a hillside, the skeletal palaces submerged under marshes. Whilst she had been consorting with the archaeologists, bones of ancient creatures had been found, great mastodon ribcages unearthed near the coast, mammoth quidlo squids, human remains several armspans in length, even unknown beasts with three skulls. She gradually painted for Jeryd a vivid history of the Boreal Archipelago. Why had he never found her so fascinating before?