Nights of Villjamur (39 page)

'No,' Fulcrom admitted. 'But I think I know someone who can?'

'Who?'

'The Dawnir.'

'What, the one living in Balmacara? Do they even allow access? I know his existence isn't common knowledge in the city.'

'Well, you're a member of the Inquisition, so I'm sure they'll allow it.'

Jeryd shrugged. 'These days, who knows.'

Fulcrom handed the scroll back to Jeryd, who placed it safely away once again.

'So,' Fulcrom said. 'You suspect Urtica's behind it? That's a bold claim to be making.'

'I know,' Jeryd said, 'and I've not got any hard evidence. There were rumours a while back that he was involved with the cult. And he reacts evasively to questioning, though I wouldn't think he's behind the murders. He seemed genuinely shocked at the horrors located in Boll's chambers. You want my opinion, he doesn't have the stomach to be a killer, at least not at first hand. He's more your manipulator, behind-the-scenes kind of guy. The only thing I can assume is that he might have been up to something with Boll and Ghuda. Well, after what happened to them, he must be shitting himself now.'

'So, how exactly d'you think he's involved?'

'I've no real idea. The Council murders are the most bizarre I've ever come across. You know what the only clue is, if you can even call it that?'

Fulcrom shook his head.

'Paint.'

'Paint?'

'Yeah. I found a smear of paint in Boll's chambers, amidst all that blood. Then I remembered I found paint by Ghuda's body, too.'

Fulcrom appeared to be processing this fact carefully. 'So, some sort of artist or craftsman involved? You sure it's not a cultist?'

'Seriously doubt it, because they live by their own rules. Plus why such spectacular, unsubtle deaths? That's not their style at all. They're more stealthy in their methods.'

'Maybe the murderer decided to paint an image of his victims? As a keepsake perhaps . . . I don't know, I'm just throwing things your way.'

'The paint could mean anything,' Jeryd said gloomily. 'All I can do now is check every jobbing artist in Villjamur.'

Jeryd was suddenly struck by inspiration. 'Damn!'

'What?' Fulcrom said. 'I can tell you've thought of something.'

'Damn,' Jeryd repeated, and sat back in his chair. He laughed, his tail thrashing from side to side. 'How stupid of me. All the time I've been telling myself it wasn't her.'

'Who?' Fulcrom sat straighter.

'The prostitute that Ghuda spent his last night with, she had paintings all over her place. I think I should pay her another visit. Maybe I'll send Tryst along to keep an eye on her. I just thought it was
too
obvious, and therefore it didn't seem right. Only thing is, if she is involved, why?'

'Who knows why anyone does anything,' Fulcrom said. 'Many of our actions are a lot stranger than they need be. Especially humans, led so easily by their emotions.'

Jeryd felt uncomfortable, recalling how susceptible to emotions he himself was.

*

'This way, investigator,' the guard gestured.

Jeryd followed his lead, all the time mulling over his thoughts, the red and grey military uniform at the periphery of his vision. Ten minutes later, he found himself descending into a cold stone corridor that seemed to have no end. Eventually they arrived at a large wooden door. The guard knocked, and it opened.

A Dawnir stood looking down at Jeryd, who gazed back in awe.

'An investigator here to see you,' the guard announced, then marched away.

Jeryd stared dumbly up at the creature, at the tusks, at the sheer height of him.

'Ah, a rumel!' the Dawnir said, very slowly as if he had just rediscovered speech. 'I haven't seen one of you for so long! Please, please, step this way.' His voice was thunderous, unexpected.

'Thank you.' Jeryd flashed his medallion with its ancient symbol of a triangular crucible, as proof of office. 'Investigator Rumex Jeryd, and I take it you're Jurro?'

'For what a name is worth, that is correct,' the Dawnir replied.

Jeryd watched the creature with fascination. Twice the size of a human, covered thickly in hair, it was an intimidating sight. 'I fear I didn't think you really existed, they were so keen to keep folk away from you.'

'Really? How intriguing. You know, I was beginning to think I didn't exist either. They keep me locked up here . . . well, not really locked up, but where am I to go? It isn't safe for me to venture into the city so they say. Apparently it is the priests, mainly, who don't want me around. That's why so few people know I'm actually here. They are worried that my presence might offend their little religion. But some of your people leave me little offerings outside my door, and I trip over them when I go to relieve myself. But there is hope yet, for I am to accompany a few soldiers on a trip north. I might enjoy that, because you know, it's not much of a life here.'

He indicated the rows of books with his massive arm.

'I don't know, though. Maybe sitting around reading all day is better than seeing what I might do.'

Jeryd tried some small talk. He already liked the Dawnir, despite his apparent tendency to perorate. 'Must have a lot of knowledge, all these books.'

'Yes, but they don't offer answers to the real questions of the world. Our world is so old, the sun so red. Philosophers have speculated things should surely end at some point, and I would agree, if only to confirm the air of melancholy that everyone seems to possess. So, rumel, what is it
you
seek?'

'Your wisdom, Jurro.' Jeryd reached under his robes to bring out the scroll, then handed it to the Dawnir, who stood towering over the rumel, as he examined it held between forefinger and thumb.

Jeryd said, 'This is confidential information, I hardly need to tell you.'

'Why would it be confidential, since you obviously can't read it.'

'Yes, true.' Jeryd grunted a laugh. 'Anyway, it's between us, if you can translate it for me. They say you're an Ancient.'

'Ancient in body only, I fear. I have no memory before my days here in the city.'

'Does that mean you can't read it?' Jeryd said, feeling disappointed.

'I didn't say that,' the creature thundered, possibly frowning under heavy-set brows, Jeryd couldn't be sure. 'No, I have all my books, and I have studied many ancient languages in the hope of tracing my past. I learn new words all the time. Even yesterday I discovered our word for the Jorsalir has deep origins.'

Jurro gazed for some time at the scroll, then brought a candle closer to it. Jeryd flinched, thinking that his only real piece of evidence might be about to go up in flames.

'Yes, I think I can interpret this for you,' the Dawnir said eventually. 'Would you like some ink and paper to take it down?'

'Please.'

The creature searched for several moments under stray piles of books until he found a blank piece of parchment and a quill. 'Here you are.'

Jeryd sat down at a table, ready to write.

'It reads: "We have the facilities and the capabilities. We could probably remove five thousand in a few days, then bury the dead at sea. This can be done secretly and with ease. I can confirm there are enough underground passages to facilitate your plans for cleansing. I refer to the old escape tunnels, so the very age of our beloved city suggests she would permit the removal of such a blot on her surface." Then the rest of the writing seems to be smudged, blurred with damp perhaps.'

Jurro ceased reading, looked up at Jeryd. 'Have I given you news you didn't wish for, investigator?'

Jeryd inhaled deeply, considering what he had just heard. He rolled up the parchment with his notes on and placed it under his robes. 'Jurro, you did just fine. Many thanks for your trouble.'

Five thousand dead?
Jeryd thought.
What the hell's going on? Is this really something planned to happen in the city? And even so, why would the Council want to kill five thousand?

'Where did you obtain this document?' The creature handed the scroll back to Jeryd.

'Somewhere too high up for my liking,' Jeryd said.

'You rumel, tell me, you live longer than humans, yes?'

'Three or four times as long. Why?'

'And that's why there are so few humans in the Inquisition?' The Dawnir fingered a tusk idly.

'The older an investigator, the better, because we can remember cases from a long time back. We're wise to the ways of the city. That's what we tell ourselves, anyway, but the legend has it that this custom was from the original treaty when we jointly founded the city - to keep the two species happy. There's not many of us rumel in the Council, so it's a nice concession to have us overseeing the law.'

'I thought as much, but it is nice for it to be confirmed. I'm a sponge for facts.'

'Maybe you need to get out a bit more.'

'I plan to.'

*

'Tryst.' Investigator Jeryd leaned into his subordinate's office - a small, stone room with no windows. A lantern stood on the desk at which the young human sat.

Tryst looked up from the documents he was working on. 'Jeryd, please, come in.' Tryst stood up, motioned for Jeryd to enter the room.

The rumel stepped in, then he looked behind the door before shutting it firmly. He glanced at the plate of fried locusts to one side.
Always eating, still as slender as a Salix tree, damn him.
'Working on anything special?'

'Just going over financial accounts from one of the smaller Council treasuries. I'm looking out for any movements of monies that could be of interest.' Upon seeing Jeryd's expression, he then added, 'You look as if you've something on your mind.'

Jeryd keenly wanted to discuss what the Dawnir had revealed, but not just yet. Aide Tryst wasn't quite senior enough to be entrusted with something so . . .
profound
. And besides, Jeryd had his reservations about the man's character. 'I wonder if you could do me a favour, as I had some new ideas about the murder of those councillors. I think we were right at the beginning - in suspecting the prostitute - though I haven't got anything solid yet.' Jeryd related his latest thoughts.

Tryst leaned back in his chair, the lantern light casting a savage shadow across his face. 'Sounds worth looking into, but what did you have in mind?'

'I want her shadowed,' Jeryd explained. 'Maybe you could observe her for a few days.'

'Are you too busy yourself then?'

He's shrewd, this one
, Jeryd thought, his tail twitching in irritation. 'Yes, I am. I'm seeking out a motive, so I want to spend the next few days examining Council activities.'

'OK,' Tryst said. 'I'll start later today.'

*

All through the afternoon Jeryd scrutinized his notes, tried to work out how everything added up. Perhaps a little self-indulgently he had seated himself in the corner of a favourite bistro, ordered a sweet pastry and a beaker of hot juniper tea. What he was doing was too sensitive to be pursued within the Inquisition chambers.

He was getting really paranoid.

What did it all mean? Why would one of the esteemed Council be planning the death of so many people? Was that why Ghuda and Boll were killed? Did someone find out what they were up to? And, above all, who was the coded message from? At least, he had Tryst watching the prostitute. Hopefully the young human would find out something useful.

The bistro was fairly quiet. Across the stone-flagged room sat an old couple dressed in matching smart brown tunics, like they used to make down Foulta Gata when the cotton boom was in full swing, a classic Villjamur stitch. They were sitting drinking tea, each reading a book, perfectly comfortable in each other's silent presence, and every time the man finished a chapter he would look up and smile at his partner. A few weeks back, Jeryd would have found the pair simply depressing, but now he warmed to such a display of affection.

This was a time of day when the city would pause. The morning throng had had its moment, the bustle had gone, and in the bistros you mostly found only those who chose to drink alone to ruminate. Even the serving girl looked a little distant, either anxious to go home or taking a moment to relax before it became busy again.

Jeryd contemplated his next move on the Council, how he would spy on them, digging deep in order to find out who was working on what. He would send a message, to each councillor in private, warning how their lives might be at risk unless they opened up. He folded up his notes, threw some coins on the table and turned to leave, eyeing the old couple as the man brought his loved one's hand to his lips.

What a city
, Jeryd thought.
What a place to live, despite the extremes of existence here. The epic and the everyday, they're just two aspects of city life.

All in Villjamur.

Night-time, and none of the city bridges were visible, let alone the spires they led to. Thick, immovable, a fog had rolled in from the coast, and Aide Tryst walked cautiously along the snowy cobbled streets, one hand shoved deep in his robe pocket, the other clutching half a roll-up of arum weed, his feet tingling with the cold. The snow had been relentless the last few evenings. Where it had been cleared by seawater, you had to pick your route with caution. Each day there were stories of people breaking arms and legs. Despite the threat, children walked along the same streets waiting to meet their snowball destiny.