Nights of Villjamur (31 page)

'A word with you later,' Urtica whispered.

'Of course, Magus.' Tryst retreated with a deferential bow, and the next man stood ready to receive his dripping reward.

*

After the proceedings, Urtica walked with Tryst back to the city proper.

As they traversed one of the bridges, Urtica paused to lean on one of the thick stone parapets, examining the city from this great height. A sea mist had come in, now filtering through the city. Occasional citizens appeared, walking like ghosts with lanterns held out in front of them. There was the stench from crates of rotting vegetables discarded in corners behind bistros and taverns, disturbed occasionally by cats rooting through them for rodents. One of the tavern doors opened spilling light, and a group of men piled out into the cold evening air, singing wildly about a previous Emperor who had wreaked carnage all across Jokull.

Urtica glanced up to some of the narrow windows on the spire towers. Faint dabs of light, shadows moving inside the warmth. After a nod of confirmation from him, Tryst lit some pre-rolled arum weed, the embers glowing at the tip. Urtica didn't mind a few bad habits now and then.

'I love these bridges, Tryst,' Urtica confessed. 'They offer such a wonderful view, you can see nearly everything going on. And still, even after all these hundreds of years, the citizens below us always forget that other people can watch their movements at any time.'

'Indeed, Magus,' Tryst said, stepping up alongside the chancellor. 'Anyone would think the whole place was designed with voyeurism in mind.'

'Perhaps,' Urtica sighed. 'Yet I love this city. There is so much that it can do.'

'A pity the ice age restricts it,' Tryst said.

'Not a lot we can do about that,' Urtica said. 'However, it'll only last for a few decades. We inside can outlive that.' He then eyed the refugee camps, and the smoke-striated sky. 'It'll mean we come back stronger, afterwards.' Urtica slapped the stone with his palm, turned to face Tryst directly. 'Your commander. Investigator Rumex Jeryd. What do you honestly think about him?'

'Honestly?'

'Honestly.'

He took another drag on the roll-up and breathed slowly into the night. 'Well, Magus, it's complicated. I mean we used to be good friends, and admittedly, he has helped me a lot. But now I feel differently because he's thwarting my promotion.'

'All about the age thing?' Urtica suggested.

'Indeed. Because I won't live as long as a rumel, he reckons I'll never become experienced enough. So, he won't do anything to help me. He won't even try.'

'Of the fellow himself, then - is he a competent Inquisition officer?'

'Oh, yes, he's good at his job. But he'll never break with tradition. Won't even try.' He scowled. 'I think I deserve better.'

'Well, I'm not sure I like the sound of him too much,' Urtica said. 'Now, I don't want him removed, either. That would only draw attention. It might suggest corruption in the Council. No, if he's as good as some folk say, then I hope he'll find the murderer. I find something unnerving, though.' Urtica shivered as a damp wind stirred his robe. 'I want him to find the killer, yet I don't want him delving so deeply into Council business that he might stumble into Ovinist territory. Not now, with all these plans I have for us. He strikes me as one who takes his work extremely seriously, and I can't risk him exposing us.'

Tryst said, 'You wish me to help in some way?'

'Yes, tell me if there's anything we can distract him with so he does not dig too deep.'

Tryst related the renewed relationship of Jeryd and Marysa, that he messed up things with her before, couldn't afford to do so again.

'This might prove useful,' Urtica said. 'Perhaps you could distract our investigator by somehow disrupting their relationship. I don't know how, but don't kill her or anything. That would knock him off the case completely, and all I want is just a little distraction. Something that will keep his nose out of Council matters and concentrating only on surface issues. Anything to keep him on the streets hunting the killer.'

'I'm sure it can be arranged.' Tryst frowned. 'I only need to find a way.'

'You know, you've proved very useful to me, Tryst. I would like to see you standing a little closer to me in future. We've got some important schemes to develop, particularly regarding the refugee situation.' Urtica waved an arm vaguely towards the edge of the city. 'Those vermin beyond the walls, spreading their filth and disease. I need someone to help me deal with them. When the time comes, it won't be a pretty job at all. So do you reckon you're up to it?'

'Magus Urtica,' Tryst smiled. 'It would be an honour.'

'Good, then let me tell you more about my proposals on the matter, my dear boy . . .' Urtica turned his gaze once again to Villjamur.

It was, Randur concluded, pushing himself off the cobbles of an alley next to the tavern, an unwise decision to drink so much and so quickly.

He felt damp grit on his palms, and the muscles in his arms quivered as he levered himself upright. His head ached so much he wanted to cut it off. He looked up to see Denlin perched on top of a small wooden stool nearby.

Still drinking.

Still talking.

'Morning, lad,' Denlin said cheerfully.

Randur collapsed to the ground with a groan, and the old man burst out laughing.

'Trouble with you youngsters is, you think you can keep up with us. But we've been at it for years, lad. I was drinking this horse piss before you could let go of your mother's teat . . .'

'Bollocks,' Randur muttered, then groaned again. His hair was dishevelled, mud plastered all over one side of his face. There was a faintly foul smell he hoped he had nothing to do with.

So, another night of drinking with Denlin. This ritual had been going on for days, the cycle repeating itself: seduction of a lady, take what pickings he could, then flee into the darkness of the caves where Denlin would soon arrange a buyer. Celebrations would ensue, naturally, and it wasn't normal for him to drink this much, but last night he had a particularly good haul. A diamond bracelet snatched from a sixty-year-old widow. Her age hadn't limited her sexual appetite, but it had taken her an age to reach orgasm, and she lay so still afterwards that he thought she was dead. As he left she kept murmuring thank-yous.

Before he had stepped into the night, he managed to swipe his most expensive trophy yet.

A clock tower chimed, each strike ricocheting around Randur's head. He counted eight hours, and realized that within the next one he had a dance lesson with the Lady Eir. He cursed loudly.

'What's up, lad?'

Randur said, 'I've got to go.' He stood up at last, brushed himself down, his damp clothes stinking of smoke and alcohol.

'Well, I'll be here when you need me,' Denlin said.

'I'll be back as soon as I've got more stuff to sell.' Randur turned and began to hurry away through Caveside.

He abruptly frowned, noticing the unusual light. It shouldn't be daylight down here, not still underground, though it occurred to him that he had only ever visited the caves at nighttime, and now it was morning.

Randur rubbed his eyes again, looked up. 'Well, would you look at that . . .'

Light ran in strips down the underside of the immense cavern, as if he was standing under the glowing ribcage of some gargantuan beast. These ribs sparkled like glass. At the apex, in the very centre of the cave, shone a bright hub of light that intruded from the outside, directly from the brightening sky above. There were similar smaller hubs located at intervals throughout the caves, each one projecting light to this neglected expanse of city. Perhaps this was the real Villjamur from time immemorial, not the other city that every traveller saw, or the one the wealthy and powerful now lived in.

But this was no time to dawdle, or speculate. He was late, and reeking of alcohol. He sprinted back to Balmacara.

*

It was the same morning that Commander Brynd Lathraea was bringing the new Empress to Villjamur, and a large contingent of the Fourth and Fifth Dragoons was riding towards the city through the mist. The horses' hooves thumped on sodden tundra, leaving a muddy trail. It wouldn't be at all difficult for anyone to follow, but there were so many troops in attendance that you need not fear a surprise attack. Brynd rode directly alongside the carriage in which Rika sat with the windows veiled. Apium was astride his horse, one of those pulling the vehicle, while Nelum and Lupus were riding directly behind. All around them on either side, keeping pace precisely, were columns of Dragoons.

The Lady Rika herself was the centre of all this.

Brynd eyed her frequently, but couldn't tell much from her expression. He suspected she understood exactly what was required of her in her new role, with its responsibilities. He also knew she had not seen Villjamur for several years. Its daunting walls and the three entrance gates had been there seemingly forever, but there were now differences, inside and out. The ice age was upon them, with thousands of refugees huddled outside. Families were being torn apart, there were suicides and murders daily.

And her father, the Emperor, was dead.

*

'Your breath, Randur Estevu, smells as if a horse has just passed wind. I trust you've a decent reason for entering my presence in such a state?' Eir folded her arms as she examined Randur.

'And what would you know of a horse's bodily functions, a pretty little rich girl like you?' Randur slumped into a chair in the minor chamber he had commandeered for dancing lessons. The fire was spitting rather too loudly for his liking, even though tapestries covered the windows in an attempt to exclude draughts. Randur was at least grateful for the dim lighting, since his head pounded even when confronted with a candle. His pupil was today wearing one of her green silk numbers, something he had to admit she looked particularly attractive in.

If only she could shut her mouth for more than a second.

Placing his head in his hands, he began to massage his scalp. 'Oh, Bohr.'

'And may I ask how you managed to end up in this state?' Eir enquired.

'You may not,' Randur groaned, glancing up at her. Her face displayed an expression of disgust he wasn't used to seeing from women. He was a man of style, after all, so maybe things weren't looking so great.

'Do you realize who you're talking to?' Her tone was indignant.

'Sure I do,' Randur replied.

'Yet you obviously have no respect for me?'

'I'm sorry.' Randur stood up, gave her as sarcastic a bow as he could manage, given the pain in his head. He wasn't in the mood for this formal nonsense.

Her expression suggested that she wasn't sure whether he was being serious. 'I thought you requested for a drummer to help us with the timing?' she persisted. 'Maybe he has got himself into Astrid-knows-what trouble, like yourself.'

'I wasn't in any trouble,' Randur protested, rubbing his eyes. 'I can handle myself just fine on these streets.'

'I'm sure you can,' Eir said tartly. 'Now I demand that you tell me where you were and what you were up to.'

'Caveside, if you must know.' He began to pace around the room in the hope of walking off his headache, occasionally stepping over to the window. Right now the cool air was the freshest he'd ever breathed.

'Caveside?' Eir said, frowning. 'Whatever were you doing down there? While you're in residence here, you ought to conduct yourself with more decorum. It's a bit reckless, don't you think, fraternizing with all those thugs? I've heard stories about serving girls who ventured down the wrong street and--'

'D'you have any idea what actually goes on down there?' Randur snapped, glancing despairingly at her. He shook his head.
Bohr, how damn spoiled are people around here?

'Well,' Eir replied, 'I have been told of all sorts of thieves and murderers. Soldiers gone bad.'

'Yeah, well maybe there are some of those,' Randur admitted. They were so silent for a while he could hear the wind racing through Balmacara. Upon understanding the words she spoke, he said, 'You've lived here all these years and never actually been down there?'

Eir gave an impatient shrug. 'I don't really have much time for the business of such people. Why should I risk stepping foot in that darkness?'

Randur grunted to suppress a laugh.
How could this girl be even temporarily in charge if she doesn't have a clue about half the type of people in her own damn city? It makes me glad I never grew up in a place like this.

Randur was feeling tired, knew he was getting grumpy as he always did when he hadn't had enough sleep. That, combined with his hangover, meant he was pretty pissed off. 'What is it with this place, this
legendary
city of sanctuary? The jewel of the Jamur Empire, the largest city in the Archipelago, yet you've got thousands of refugees camped right outside the gates, while the city's rulers turn a blind eye on the millions of ordinary citizens who don't own huge acreages of land, or who haven't grown fat off tribal slave labour, or what's practically wage slavery. They're just not real to you, are they?'