City Of Ruin (30 page)

Nelum had known Lupus for a few years, and reckoned he seemed rather disturbed of late. Rumour had it that he was seeing some woman, an old flame living in the city, and Nelum didn’t mind that, so long as it didn’t interfere with his professional work. Though it seemed a damn silly time to be having an affair: what was the point of falling in love, in a city that might soon be doomed?

He hailed a fiacre that rattled across much of Villiren, before he continued on foot. He passed two homeless men smothered in blankets inside a doorway. Then an entire family huddled around a fire blazing in a metal drum. When they asked him for spare change he could only walk on.

The church dominated the surrounding streets here. Old architecture loomed, imposing a sense of history on the city. Its mullions and transoms were some of the finest he’d ever seen, and its enormous lancet-shaped windows were awe-inspiring. He marvelled at its glory. Above the finely sculpted entrance to the Jorsalir church was a parvise with a light burning inside, warm and inviting, and he headed towards it.

A moment later Nelum stood inside the entrance, smelling the history beyond. He studied by candlelight the massive murals that covered the walls with faded colours and shapes. He placed a Sota coin in the box labelled ‘Offerings’.

Everything here was familiar, a trigger to his memories. He remembered walking through similarly ornate chambers to reach the libraries in the vast private academies in Villjamur. In all those years after his mother died, bringing him into this world, his father frequently urged him to become an academic, that he should train with the eschatologists or genethlialogists. In that strict Jorsalir household, it was even mooted that he join the priesthood, and more than once the young student received a curt slap for scoffing at the notion. The irony that his father had been a failed priest in his youth was not lost on Nelum during those times, and he could forgive the man for taking his anger out on his own lost opportunities. But Nelum had shunned all that, eventually shunned the money his father was ready to throw at him to study. Instead he chose to enlist as a soldier.

Despite those painful memories, being here brought him a sense of relief, rejoicing that there could be such beauty in this city. History was present in these walls, deep within the Ancient Quarter. Images of the founder gods, Bohr and Astrid, two of the ancient Dawnir race two hundred thousand years ago, their names now attributed to the two moons. Representations of the rumel wars, fifty millennia later, before even humans existed. Depictions of the Máthema and Azimuth civilizations, from over thirty thousand years ago, two immense kingdoms that possessed everything, that worshipped mathematics and had technology far superior to that of the present day, only to be brought to their knees by crop failures and war – a harsh warning against excessive reliance on technology. And finally the Jamur Empire, now known as the Urtican Empire, a tradition of greatness of which he himself was a part. He was proud of that fact – everyone was in the Night Guard.

And here was his dilemma: that the commander of the Night Guard, the most senior military figure, was someone whose lifestyle troubled the prestigious qualities becoming to the Empire, and its most sacred doctrines.

Nelum remembered the whispered conversations of the past. There had always been rumours from soldier to soldier matching the one Brynd had told him. People had seen him go to this place or that over the years – never a direct sighting, of course, but he had thought he could ignore it. The man fought well, led well; these things weren’t important for a while. Some spoke of a man back in Villjamur who Brynd would visit some evenings, but if the Night Guard could contain the problem then their name would not be tarnished. Only thing was, the rumours were feral.

Without saying so, earlier Brynd had confirmed Nelum’s suspicions about him. It was there in his mannerisms, in his awkward gestures and his strained voice, and now Nelum could no longer overlook the problem. Nelum only wanted to do the right thing, but no solutions came to mind. He badly needed advice.

‘Lieutenant.’

Priest Pias met him as agreed, offering a hand. Nelum kissed it. The mere presence of the learned prelate was calming.

‘Priest Pias,’ he whispered across the aged knuckles, ‘I seek your counsel.’

‘Rise, my boy,’ the priest replied. ‘Follow me.’

*

They drank tea in what seemed like a golden room: candlesticks, portrait frames, gold leafing on the chairs and plates – everything shimmered with wealth. So many times he had felt the same in Villjamur, even when, as a young child not knowing better, he was reluctant to go to church. Once again he felt spellbound by the beauty and the incense and the arcane texts.

When Priest Pias asked Nelum about his visit, the lieutenant told him about the allegations regarding his commander.

The old priest nodded gravely, a rhythm of deep contemplation. ‘That is, of course, a major sin in the eyes of the Jorsalir church.’

‘I understand, sir. The problem is that he is working wholeheartedly to unite people of this city into strengthening their defences, and he is training the local soldiers expertly. He aims to save this fringe of the Empire from falling into . . . From whatever evils lie beyond.’

‘Yes, I am quite aware of his intentions. He has already come here asking my help.’

‘Sir, I’m not sure I see the church’s role in any of this.’

‘Of course not.’ A smile. ‘Which means the old methods work! As the Empire evolved, it couldn’t simply rely on the whip hand any more to persuade subjects to behave in acceptable ways. One doesn’t build a policy of imperialism unless one is
seen
to be fair. There is democracy now, they would cry. There exists the illusion that they had a say in political affairs. So to control people’s minds they needed other means of persuasion. Including the Jorsalir church.’

Nelum was aghast at this blatant manipulation of people’s spiritual beliefs.

‘Do not lose your faith, my dear lieutenant. This is not to question the ultimate word of Bohr. Our synergy with the Empire has allowed our church to flourish over thousands of years. It is a symbiosis that serves everyone’s interests, and that’s why we remain so close – a link that helps keep cultists at bay too.’

The gold glitter in the room was suddenly overbearing, refracting the candlelight too harshly into Nelum’s eyes. ‘I was never aware of such a depth of rivalries between the cultists and the church. Granted I have spent many of my years in active service.’

‘We try not to make it all that public, but it is no secret that the church disdains those who propagate false histories – cultists especially.’

‘I had no idea . . .’

‘The threat of schisms exists. We currently have one developing on the more southerly islands, a sect led by a priest called Ulryk is promising to be quite the danger . . .’ The old priest paused and composed himself –
has he said more than he should have done?
‘But let us now consider dangers closer to home: the nocturnal habits of the albino commander.’

‘Indeed, sir,’ Nelum agreed. ‘So, what do you suggest?’

The priest stared into deep space for a long moment before he began to quote. ‘“So Bohr let them go ahead to do whatever shameful things they desired. As a result, they did vile things with each other’s bodies. So they worshipped the things Bohr made but not Bohr himself, and Bohr left them to their shameful desires. Men committed shameful abominations with other men and suffered within themselves the penalty they fully deserved. Bohr abandoned them to their evil minds and let them do things that should not be done. Their lives became full of many kinds of wickedness, sin, greed, hate, envy, murder, fighting, deception, malicious behaviour, and gossip. They are haters of Bohr, insolent, proud, and boastful.” ’

The scripture was vaguely familiar to Nelum.

Priest Pias continued. ‘In our texts it is stated clearly that such acts are intrinsically wrong and against nature. The punishment according to the law of the Empire and to our own scriptures is execution of the guilty. Given his public position the exposure of your commander could bring shame and humiliation on your regiment, and on the army in general. Indeed, the whole structure of governance might be affected.’

‘Surely you’d be able to manipulate the ill effects?’

Judging by the curl of his lip the priest seemed to like that remark. ‘I appreciate the difficulties. We need his skills in the coming crisis – I understand. We must think of the citizens. So for now, let him help us, but presently we should dispose of him. Meanwhile, do keep me informed.’

Nelum bid his farewell to the priest, kissing the old man’s fingers before retreating outside into the cold, then a hard slog through heavy snow, past the homeless and on to his next destination, wondering when might be an appropriate time for him to engineer the fate of his commanding officer.

*

‘I’m seeking a man called Malum,’ Nelum explained to the barman, dropping a couple of coins on the counter. The tavern was dingy, a real spit-and-sawdust joint, with currently barely a customer in it. Two old men sat in companionable silence at the far end of the room, which stank of stale beer.

The return glance the barman gave him said he either knew Malum or at least knew of him. He slung down his cloth and leaned over the bar. He glanced to either side before grunting some directions, then he leaned back and said sourly, ‘That’s all I’m telling you.’

Nelum nodded, thanked the man, and headed out into the street, where he hailed a fiacre. But when he mentioned the location, the driver refused to take him there directly, only to somewhere close by.

‘That’s fine,’ Nelum agreed, wondering at the mystery surrounding this gang leader.

It was a bone-rattling ride across the cobbles of the city in a once-plush carriage, whose dignity had long since faded. Snow brushed against the window as Nelum became lost in his own thoughts. He still tortured himself about what he must do, weighed up what the priest had said and what he himself felt was right.

The fiacre came to a halt and he turned to pay the driver, before regarding his surroundings. As the carriage sped away, he decided this area was not all that bad. Buildings were much the same wherever you went in this city, but this was a comparatively clean area, with a wide plaza, and a concentration of decent shops. A cold wind stung his cheeks as he moved on, studying his surroundings, following the route outlined by the barman.

Three doors along from one intersection, he knocked loudly on a door positioned between what looked like a shop selling erotic garments and another selling knives. The door opened and a scruffy youth demanded, ‘Fuck you want?’

‘I need to see a man called Malum.’

‘Well, he don’t fucking want to see you.’

Another voice from behind, ‘Get away from there, kid. Who is it?’ A red-haired man shambled up to the door, with his shirt unbuttoned. ‘Yeah?’

‘It’s urgent that I see Malum. I’ve got money.’

‘Sure you have.’ The redhead looked him up and down. ‘Looks like you’re a soldier.’

‘Can you ask him, please?’

A lingering pause, then the man stepped away, leaving the vicious-looking kid to watch over him. Nelum decided to wait, uncertain what was going on, but eventually he was beckoned inside.

Two minutes later he found himself sitting at a table surrounded by gang members deep underground. They watched him suspiciously, as a man with a red mask sat down opposite.

‘Boys said you were asking for me,’ grunted the man, whose mask was some hideous tribal item, giving him an additionally sinister edge. The outer rim of a bruise could be discerned just underneath it.

‘That’s right. I understand that you received some information regarding the commander of our armies.’

‘Fuck should I help a soldier?’

Nelum felt frustrated at his ridiculous arrogance. ‘I understand you suspect the albino has certain . . . preferences.’

‘He fucks men, you mean?’

‘Is it true?’

‘Come on now, soldier. I’m not giving information without getting some back. You all fucked off to some conflict last night – why were those warning bells ringing? What does it mean for this city?’

Nelum hesitated for a moment, then revealed the details about the skirmish. ‘Ultimately, last night’s incident means there’ll be an increased military presence out on the streets. So. Is it true about our commander?’

‘Course it fucking is. We got a confession from the man-whore who bedded him. Got two of my lads following your albino. Saw what he got up to, more or less.’

Nelum had half hoped that he would hear otherwise. ‘Why should I trust what you say?’

‘Should I care?’ Malum replied. ‘I’ve no business with you anyway. I gain nothing out of telling lies. I want that albino dead – and, for sure, the gangs won’t fight for a pervert like him. Think about it: why would he come alone to fight last night if he was innocent?’

Nelum nodded, absorbing the information, scanning the sentences for logic, then reached into one of his pockets. He retrieved a purse of coins, dropped it on the table. ‘For your help,’ he explained.

‘I’ll take it.’ Malum slid his chair back. ‘But it’s not much to me. I’ve got more money than you could even begin to imagine.’