Retribution (Drakenfeld 2) (19 page)

Sulma Tan was right. Kuvash, or at least the Sorghatan Prefecture, possessed an efficient messenger service. While the standard practice across Vispasia was that messengers did their business around a city for coin from individuals, here messengers were subsidized by the royal coffers. The queen thought that the flow of messages and information was necessary for the city to grow and prosper, and therefore worthy of her patronage.

Such a service was therefore free at the basic level to use for many hours of the day, and there were several messenger stations, no more than glorified shacks, to be found scattered around the city. Young men and women could be seen dashing about wearing a green tunic with a gold sash, heavy boots and a floppy velvet hat bearing the raised red stag of Koton.

I stood in one of the writing booths at a messenger station, a cold stone room on the edge of a small spice market. The building contained three private desks, made of good quality wood, at which I wrote two letters.

The first was to Sulma Tan, saying that I wished to meet her in the afternoon. I hoped that she could arrange for Borta to see Grendor’s body, and could I be present while she was with her at the time. I concluded that I would like to arrange for a new place for Leana and myself to stay, suggesting that our safety was under threat. I didn’t go into too much detail, but informed her of the attempt on our lives.

The second message would cost me a decent amount of money, since it was to be delivered across the nation’s borders and I opted for the fastest possible messengers. This letter was an update to the Sun Chamber’s headquarters within Free State, some way to the south of Vispasia, informing them of the case so far, my suspicions – there were none – and my future actions. I also sent a copy of this note to the Sun Chamber postal station located just to the south of the Kotonese border: along with a request that any return messages, or credit notes for me to cash in my wages with a reputable bank, should be sent to me via Sulma Tan.

Leana and I ate a dubious meat-based dish, in the shadow of an old statue of Astran, which overlooked a bubbling fountain. The cobbled plaza was much quieter as the afternoon came upon us and people avoided the heat. Morning trade had fizzled out. Now people filled the backstreet taverns instead and sat on the ground in the shaded alleyways, talking, always talking, as if it was some kind of sport.

After our lunch we headed through the streets to the royal palace, where Sulma Tan finally met us. She was clearly agitated, though not in her usual way. She wasn’t unhappy, rather she was . . .
unsettled
.

We exchanged pleasantries and she informed me that Borta had been called in to see Grendor’s body in two hours’ time, as requested.

I pointed out to her that she appeared disturbed by something.

‘You are right . . . though it is probably not what you think.’ She glanced around as one of the administrators marched past carrying a ledger, his boots echoing along the hallway. ‘I suspect it will be prudent to continue this conversation in a more discreet place.’

Very calmly she walked us to a quiet and pleasant chamber, away from prying eyes. The room possessed some lovely couches, shelves full of books, an empty fireplace and a large arched window overlooking a small courtyard garden. Sunlight fell across a red rug. We sat down on one of the couches while Sulma Tan stood with her back to the window, composing her thoughts.

‘This might sound a little unusual,’ she began, and fell into silence once again.

‘Go on,’ I urged.

‘I am not one for believing fanciful explanations for the things in life that cannot easily be explained,’ she said. ‘Though I admire the gods, and acknowledge there are some wondrous things in the world, I have always preferred reason to the fear of the supernatural.’

‘We share such a view,’ I said. ‘In fact, you walk in the path of my own goddess, Polla.’

‘A fine woman.’ She stepped around the room, her head slightly bowed in deep contemplation. ‘That said, I cannot quite explain what I have seen recently. I have consulted some books in our library for an explanation, but nothing satisfies . . .’

I glanced across to Leana, who remained as cool as ever.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked.

‘Two things have happened.’ There was a hesitancy with her every sentence, as if she was embarrassed by what she was about to tell us. If she would ever get around to telling us . . .

‘Is it to do with the case?’

‘In a manner of speaking. Well . . . I might as well just say it. First, I placed the pieces of the arm of the bishop back in the box where I have been keeping them, with the palm facing downward. I was quite sure of this. I then kept it hidden in a place that only I knew about and locked it securely. However, when I went back earlier to prepare Grendor’s body for Borta, I thought I heard . . .’

‘Go on.’

‘I thought I heard a
scratching
sound from the box. It could have been my imagination, but I decided to check anyway. When I opened it up I saw that the arm was there . . . however, the palm was now facing up instead of down.’

Nodding, I thought a rat might have caused the scratching sound, and that Sulma Tan might easily have placed the palm the other way around without realizing it. She was a busy person, and could easily have been distracted, no matter how adamant she was. Anyone could have imagined that.

‘You mentioned there were two things,’ I said. ‘What was the other?’

‘The bishop’s head. This has never been kept in a box, not even since you brought it here, but stored separately alongside the body deep in the vaults with the sack still over it.’

‘What of it?’

‘It had managed to somehow . . . get out of the sack and roll onto the floor.’

After a moment’s pause I said, ‘Perhaps someone removed it and played a joke? They might even have done the same with the arm.’

‘It is possible.’ Sulma Tan nodded, clearly having examined the same thoughts herself. ‘But that does not explain why there was saliva coming out of the bishop’s mouth.’

‘I’m sorry?’ I leaned forward in my seat. Even Leana looked incredulous.

Sulma Tan repeated herself. ‘There was saliva – just a little trail – coming from the corner of his mouth as if he was still alive. As if his body worked in the same way in death as in life. And yes, I am as surprised as you are – though perhaps a little more aghast at having seen it with my own eyes.’

‘This is—’

‘Impossible, of course. Ridiculous even. Yes, yes. I have analysed the matter in its entirety. The hand having turned over could, at a push, be put down to someone else doing that – though I stress no one knew where I kept it. The head rolling out of a sack could indeed be a freak occurrence. A joke. A small movement of the earth as can happen. But both happening at the same time, and with the addition of the saliva . . .’

Exasperated, she grinned, the corners of her mouth wrinkling wonderfully.

‘No, Officer Drakenfeld. I have analysed it all. Something is amiss here, something outside of my areas of expertise, and I do not understand what is going on.’

We locked ourselves in the medical chamber once again in order to study the head in detail. We brought lanterns around the bishop’s head, its macabre decay even more hideous with the warm light, and leaned nervously over it. Leana had her blade in her hand – and I did not caution her that it was unnecessary. She must also have believed that this was a ridiculous way to behave, to be wary of something that was clearly untrue, yet neither of us mentioned this.

It is strange how we seem to absorb what other people say to us, even if it goes against our instincts. Anecdotes, even the convincing one provided by Sulma Tan, can be inserted into our heads without our being aware of the full effects. Here I was, glad that Leana was on standby in case this head would . . . what exactly? Bite my fingers? It was a severed head, one that had been removed for some time. It could do no harm. Yet my heart beat a little faster as Sulma Tan pointed out the trail of still-glistening saliva around what was left of the mouth and along the bruise-coloured, heavily wrinkled cheek.

‘And so you can see for yourself,’ Sulma Tan said, somewhat relieved that she could share the burden of knowledge, ‘that I am not making this up. You may choose not to believe what I say about the moving hand, however, or indeed the fact that the head had rolled out of position. But at least this is evidence.’

Leana was impatient with both of us and leaned close, almost nose to rotting nose, to get a better look.

‘It could be that some bug has left a trail,’ she muttered. ‘A slug. Something has sought nutrients from his decaying mouth. I have seen such things before. You worry needlessly.’

‘You were holding your sword,’ I replied. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice.’

‘For your peace of mind only.’ Leana leaned back with an air of satisfaction.

‘Shall we dissect it to find out?’ I asked.

Sulma Tan nodded. She commenced cutting around the lips to gain access to the mouth. She carved with all the delicacy of a fresco painter setting about applying colours to fresh plaster. There was an art to this, too, I realized, as she placed a piece of flesh to one side.

This process went on for some time, pulling layer after layer of skin and flesh away and placing the pieces on a metal dish, rooting down to see if there was anything of note. Minutes turned into an hour, maybe more. I was impressed at her skill. Here was a royal secretary, someone whose life had been spent on more important matters, cutting away at a corpse’s face with a sound knowledge of science behind her.

Eventually, after some consideration, Sulma Tan concluded, ‘There is nothing here. No creature of any kind, no trail left. The saliva was genuine. How do the two of you explain this now?’

We stared at each other for some time, the silence heightening our sense of confusion. Our contemplation was interrupted when a knocking came at the door, and a voice called in Kotonese for Sulma Tan.

‘Please excuse me.’ Sulma Tan washed her hands in the small bowl to one side before engaging in a short conversation at the door.

Leana whispered to me, ‘The creature could have long gone.’

‘Or it was never there in the first place,’ I replied.

‘Spirits save me, you believe the ghost stories instead?’

I was about to mutter something sarcastic, when Sulma Tan closed the door and marched back to the table. ‘Borta has arrived to look at Grendor’s body. Out of respect we should not keep her waiting, no?’

Another table, another body; this day was turning out to be gratuitous in its scientific rigour. However, Grendor of the Cape had not yet been cut open. He lay there with a cloth covering the lower half of his body, his brutally scarred, naked chest exposed to the room, his wife standing beside his resting form, while Leana and myself waited patiently in the adjacent chamber.

‘Can she not hurry?’ Leana whispered. ‘It has been some time now. It is not as though she is the one looking for clues.’

A shake of my head was all that was required. Leana was used to my ways. Death was very businesslike to her, which was perhaps not a terrible way of dealing with the large quantities of it we had both seen. Treating it so matter-of-factly was a sound way to cope. However, I had my own way of dealing with things – as Polla, my goddess, would approve.

Respect. Dignity.

These were the very underpinnings of a
civilized
society, in life or death. They were also among the core values of the Sun Chamber. Without attitudes like these we would resort to being warring factions and savage people, much like the pale-skinned Maulanders who had been subdued by Detratan troops so very recently.

No, we would be patient. We would allow Borta all the time she needed to mourn her husband. And, just as important, we would be
seen
to be patient and respectful, for we were also ambassadors for the Sun Chamber.

On a small side table behind us at the back of the room, and because of the lack of windows in this subterranean place, by lantern light Sulma Tan was busy making calculations in a ledger, presumably to do with her census.