Nights of Villjamur (58 page)

'I'm a little scared.'

'It's the unknown, that's all. It's all we're ever scared of. I'll look after you, I promise.'

She looked behind them and saw that everyone else was now motionless. Even the undead stood with precision stillness. Up ahead, the rumel soldiers, too, were perfectly still. In the snowy haze, the Realm Gate glowed invitingly.

'I'll just get this lot undone and then we're off,' he said cheerfully. Dartun headed back to free the rest of his order from the bonds of time.

He left the dogs in a state of suspension though, as they wouldn't be required for the next stage of the journey.

As he marched back to join her, everyone else plodded after him. It was a surreal sight, these few dozen men and women, all cloaked in black, tramping across an ice sheet.

They continued towards the red-skinned rumels, Dartun pressing ahead alone, clearly the most eager. There were twenty rumels in total, but that showed no indication of their numbers beyond. Were these ones just as wary about being here in another world as Verain was to be stepping into one? A bitter wind forced her head down, but she continued walking in the footsteps of the cultist in front. When she looked up again she noted how the light from the Realm Gate didn't cast any shadows. Just how ancient was the technology that had created this thing? It loomed higher and higher, and the nearer she got to it, the more impossibly tall it seemed.

Above the howl of the wind, Dartun was saying something. '. . . we must now remain cautious, because of our lack of knowledge of what lies beyond. Whatever relics you carry, make sure you have them at the ready.'

His form was now almost just a silhouette against the bright light. She sensed him glance back to her and smile, and couldn't help but be infected by his keenness. The man knew what he was doing. For a moment she forgot about their immediate situation, remembered that they were lovers. Just what exactly did he hope to find here? That was another thing about him, the constant air of mystery. Always playing with secrets.

At that very moment Dartun Sur walked with casual grace into another world.

Tuya regarded Marysa as the female rumel stood watching the blurred figure of Jeryd pass the front window on his way to work. Faint flurries of snow slashed past the glass, morning sunlight penetrating in between. As Marysa turned to face her, she realized she was pretty for a rumel. Even without youth on her side, she still possessed a youthful charm. Her dark, almost-black skin gave her an exotic air - you didn't see too many of that colour in the city, most being brown or dark grey. Perhaps this added an allure of mystery that Investigator Jeryd could never really solve.

The two women now sat enveloped in thick layers of brown robes that did nothing much for either of them except keep them warm. For a long while there was a tenuous silence brought about from suddenly being thrown together. Visitors often possessed the power to inflict self-consciousness on their hosts and she could see a hesitant look in the rumel's eyes, as if she too was uncertain at how to handle the situation.

They were startled by the sound of a snowball striking the window.

'Would you like some tea?' Marysa enquired.

'Thanks,' Tuya said, 'but you don't have to be polite to me. I can easily understand you not wanting someone like me in your home.'

Marysa stood up and walked over to the kitchen area. 'Jeryd merely said you were in trouble, and that people were after you.'

Tuya wondered if Jeryd had informed Marysa of everything she had been through, of the destruction she may have caused. Not something to bring up, though, as it didn't make for an easy conversation.

'I work as a prostitute,' Tuya said bluntly.

Marysa glanced back at her. 'Oh.'

Another snowball hit the glass.

'It's not as bad as you'd think. I'm selective.'

So cosy, with the
clink
of cups, the crackling fire, the water boiling.

'I'm in a little trouble with some people who'll be looking for me. They wanted what I couldn't give them.' Tuya laughed inwardly: what exactly could she not give a man? 'You know, you're really very lucky to have someone like Jeryd. He seems such a good sort.'

'He is.' Marysa spun around rather too quickly, her expression warning Tuya to stay away from the husband she loved.

'You know, I've never loved anyone like you must have done,' Tuya said. 'Never even been in love.'

'Really?' Marysa enquired, and there was genuine interest in her tone.

'That's right, never. And I'm in my forties. I've not met any man with whom I could form a connection. I suppose, in my job, it's easier if you don't get too attached to people.'

'I can understand that.'

Tuya continued, 'I've had men who've had their little infatuations with me. Lonely men, in particular, seem to become infatuated so easily.'

'Why do you do . . . what you do?' Marysa said, embarrassed but curious.

Tuya thought about this for some time. 'I'd like to say for the money. It's easy money, after all. I don't have to do much, just use whatever I've been blessed with. But there's an emptiness now that I just can't explain, like a spiritual scar.' She touched the side of her face. 'Sometimes you know you've walked so far down a particular path that you've nothing left but your dignity. Dignity to keep on down that very same path, even though it's the wrong one. Because when you stop, when you think . . . that's when it hurts the most. Some sort of dignity is all I've got left.'

Tuya resisted the urge to cry, but she could tell by the fact that Marysa was now walking towards her that she was failing in this. Marysa placed a hand gently on Tuya's.

A sound now from the roof.

Tuya looked up. 'What's that?'

'It's those damn kids,' Marysa said, 'throwing snowballs at our house. It usually stops after half an hour, but it doesn't half drive you crazy.'

A snowball smashed the windowpane and exploded inside, accompanied by squeals of childish laughter.

*

Now working in his chambers, Jeryd checked his crossbow. They didn't make them now like they used to. You used to get some slick firing mechanisms that were so straightforward to reload. Insert and
click
. The new one he held in his hand was problematic, because you had to insert the bolt so deep before it locked in place. Sure, it fired much further, so they claimed, but you spent far too much time reloading, in which time a knife could rake across your throat and it was all over. He needed something quick and deadly, promising a swift shot in the dark. The rumel held the weapon this way and that, then shook his head. It would have to do.

His colleague Fulcrom entered the room. 'Have you heard these extraordinary rumours about the Empress and her sister? They're planning to execute them on the city wall tomorrow evening.'

Jeryd whistled in astonishment. 'Whose call?'

'Council decision, it seems. The arch-inquisitor approved the judgement apparently. She was planning to have all the refugees killed, but was arrested at the Snow Ball by the chancellor, who intercepted her plans and put both Rika and Eir on trial late last night. Quite the show apparently. They tried to deny it, but the documents were there for all to see, and many of the councillors confessed that Rika had approached them, consulting on issues like disposing of bodies and the like. Some claimed that the sisters had issued beatings from guards to silence them, and one guard - someone I'm sure has links to Urtica - admitted this. They said they were glad of the opportunity to get it all out in the open. They praised Urtica for his guile in seeing that the Empire's people were safe. And despite all this stuff on the surface, deep down in the heart of the city, it seems people really
are
being taken in to be killed.'

Jeryd took it all in, nodding slowly, not really surprised, but it didn't stop him feeling disgusted over what went on up there, in that black vault of Balmacara. 'It couldn't be Lady Rika that organized the underground killings. It just couldn't be.'

'No,' Fulcrom agreed. 'I reckon this is to do with certain councillors . . . and Ovinists. It's something much darker to take advantage of this distraction. It's all been worked out in complex detail, so whoever's in the Ovinists . . . well, they're certainly smart.'

Jeryd said, 'This is Urtica's work, all right, all of it, and we've not got one damn piece of evidence against him. Our only witness, if you can call her that, is both a prostitute and a murderer, and if we say a single word out of line, we'll be thrown in some cell and forgotten about - that's if we're lucky. Urtica must have a huge network of his damn cult in operation, from labourers to Inquisition personnel to councillors. The trial's got to be a smokescreen, something to focus everyone's attention on while he's engaged in the business of genocide.'

Fulcrom added, 'Updates are being nailed to the doors of every tavern in the city, and even after midnight I saw a huge crowd around one.'

'Did you see what it said?'

'Said something about the dark Empress turning on her own people. If he genuinely has organized all this, then he's the master propagandist. I can't believe the audacity.'

Jeryd laughed. 'If you've known politicians for as long as I have.' He shook his head, remembering the news stories that the Inquisition had to keep under wraps
for the good of the people
, so they were told. Cover-ups of the murders of union leaders, the provision of weaponry to various rival tribes to destabilize a region, servants charged with spying. 'They were bad enough before these Ovinists got involved, the ubiquitous bastards.'

Fulcrom frowned. 'Ovinists are everywhere,' he said. 'Can we even trust each other?'

During the pause, the two rumel eyed each other steadily, knowing the question was totally unnecessary. Jeryd chuckled to himself and muttered, 'Fulcrom, if I was an Ovinist, the first thing I'd do would be to make sure I was in a better job than this.'

Fulcrom seemed to like that.

Jeryd continued, 'So who the hell d'you think will take over the Jamur Empire? Can you imagine that pompous git Urtica being in charge?'

Fulcrom shrugged. 'Not our call to make.'

'No, indeed.' Jeryd took a moment to rid himself of splenetic thoughts. 'So, to business. We've got some people to save.'

Fulcrom moved nearer to Jeryd. 'Soldiers have made some movements around one of the tunnels. It's the one they're letting the first wave of refugees into, and it's one of the older tunnels. I've got it marked on a map.'

'Good,' Jeryd said. 'Any idea how many?'
So this is it. It's really happening.

Fulcrom shook his head. 'No, all I got was the tip-off. As for some help, I've managed to round up a few of the young investigators who still have principles.'

'Can they be trusted, though?'

'They know what they're in for and just how secret this must be.'

'Fair enough.' Jeryd knew he could rely on Fulcrom's selection. 'There's just one thing we've to do on the way.'

*

Jeryd knocked hard on the metal door of Mayter Sidhe's house of banshees, as Fulcrom glanced left and right along the snow-covered street. Only a few people were out and about, hunched under so many layers of clothing that you could hardly see their faces.

It took much longer than usual for the door to open. That alerted Jeryd's suspicions, but he knew something was definitely wrong when Mayter Sidhe answered the door herself.

'Investigator,' she said, her blue eyes a shade dimmer than previously. She glanced nervously at Fulcrom.

'It's OK, he's with me,' Jeryd said.

'You'd better come in,' she beckoned.

No fragrance this time, no welcoming fire. The place was as cold as the street outside. A couple of chairs were broken and left in the shadow of the stairway.

'Where are the others?'

She gestured for the two rumel to sit down, but they insisted on standing.

'Why are you here?' she asked.

'We just want a chat,' Jeryd said, and told her everything he could about the threat to the refugees, going on to state that he would appreciate it if the banshees would forbear to draw attention to any conspirators' deaths that might occur during his intended raid on the tunnels.

'This explains much,' she sighed. Her expression was full of sadness.

'Explains what?' Jeryd said.

'Wait here a moment.' She left the room and returned with one of the younger banshees, looking like a smaller replica of herself.

Jeryd was about to say something, but Mayter Sidhe held up her hand to silence him. She turned to the girl. 'Show the investigator.'

The young woman shook her head, manically, her eyes filled with a fear Jeryd had never seen before.

'Show the investigator,' Mayter Sidhe repeated insistently.

After a moment, the girl opened her mouth.

Her tongue was missing. Scar tissue had already begun to blossom. Jeryd grimaced, glancing at Fulcrom who also looked appalled. The girl began to sob, then hurriedly left the room.