Nights of Villjamur lotrs-1

by Mark Charan Newton

'And are you?'

  He could see then that something shifted in her mind. Whether or not she now had respect for Jeryd, he couldn't be sure. 'I'm sorry. And then what happened?'

  'He sat down opposite, and I thought he was handsome. We discussed literature for a while, and he kept ordering drinks for both of us. He was altogether quite a charmer. I was lonely. He was intelligent. You're a man of the world, so you know how these things happen.'

  'Indeed.' Well no, actually, he reminded himself. It's been far too damn long since I've done any of that. Jeryd sat down on the other chair, confirmed that Tryst was noting every detail. 'And you came here afterwards?'

  'Yes,' she admitted.

  'What time was that?' Tryst asked.

  'About ten.'

  'He was obviously a quick operator,' Jeryd observed.

  Tuya's laugh was surprisingly hearty. 'I was lonely and he seemed fun. We came straight back here.'

  'You didn't notice anyone or anything strange on the way?'

  'No. Nothing at all. Not that I was paying a great deal of attention.'

  'OK, then what?'

  'We came back here and… you know.'

  'You had intercourse?'

  'Yes, investigator, but I prefer to call it making love.'

  'A little quick for love, don't you think?' A mild feeling of pique overcame him.

  Tuya played with the ends of her gown.

  'What time did he leave you?' Jeryd said.

  'He was here until early the next morning. I was pretty much asleep when he finally left.'

  'And you didn't hear or see anything you would consider out of place?'

  'Nothing more than you'd hear on any ordinary night. Drunks quarrelling down below. Horses' hooves on the cobbles.'

  There was something about the way she smiled – she didn't seem happy when she did it. Jeryd stood up, looked at Tryst. The young aide got up and pushed his chair back.

  'I think that's a start, anyway,' Jeryd said. 'We've got a few more people to interview.' He didn't actually have any immediate plans, but he wanted to make her sweat a little by creating the illusion there was a lot to follow up on.

  'You're off already?' Tuya said. 'Surely I must be your main suspect?'

  'If we need to ask you some more questions, I assume we can normally find you here?' Jeryd glanced once again at the antiques filling the room.

  'Yes, although you might be advised to knock and wait first.' She winked at Tryst.

  Jeryd stifled a laugh at the lad's embarrassment.

  *

  'So what d'you reckon?' Tryst asked as they were walking down the spiral staircase. His voice echoed hollowly against the bare stone.

  'Too early to tell. The councillor had a lot of enemies.'

  'Maybe his wife found out about this fling?'

  'In just one night? Doubtful. This was a one-off thing, surely. Lonely woman, rich crafty man. I've seen it all too many times.'

  'Well, maybe my date with Ghale will have a happier ending.'

  Jeryd looked to his aide. 'You mean Ghale, our administration assistant?'

  'Yes indeed, the very same.'

  'Ah, too soft-skinned,' Jeryd muttered, pushing open the exit door. 'You need to get yourself something tougher. Something more like a rumel girl. They're built to last, you see.'

  'And when are you going to get another one, now you're a free man?'

  Jeryd squinted up into a sharp beam of sunlight, as he stepped outside, and Tryst closed the door behind them. He couldn't think past Marysa: it was too soon since she had gone. There was too much for him to learn again. 'Too old for those sorts of games.'

  'You're never too old,' Tryst said.

  'Well, I was never much good at all that stuff, anyway.' He remembered immediately all the things Marysa had done for him, and how unfinished he was without her.

  He headed off along the street, his thoughts returning to the prostitute and the dead politician.

  SEVEN

  Brynd waited patiently alongside Eir in the corridor outside the Council Atrium, the chamber where all the plans and schemes for Villjamur and the Empire were debated. They had been sitting there for hours. Brynd understood then that, as a servant to the Empire, his life was spent arriving, departing, or waiting.

  The two of them sat in a miserable silence, and he pitied Eir for having to witness her father's death when she was still so young. He tried to convince her that it was not her fault, that it was an accident. She hadn't wept openly, but when Brynd had gone to fetch her earlier that day, he could hear her sobbing behind the closed doors of her chamber.

  However, she stepped out to greet him as elegantly composed as could be expected.

  After her sibling Rika had left, all those years ago, the younger girl had become more quiet, rather withdrawn. She shouldn't have had to cope with Johynn in his deteriorating state, not at her youthful age. Brynd wondered if she'd eventually come to see her father's departure as a release from his powerful emotional grasp over her.

  Eventually, the large Quercus wood doors of the Atrium were opened and they were both summoned inside.

  The Atrium itself was a high-domed white chamber about fifty paces wide. The twenty-five councillors, each representing a sector of the city as stated by the old maps, sat in a circle of benches, ranged above them.

  The Council had already been locked away for most of a day, anxiously deliberating the consequences of Jamur Johynn's death. They had ordered that the Emperor's mortal remains be cleaned up rapidly. As yet no one in the general population of Villjamur realized that their Emperor had killed himself. Palace servants had been threatened with torture and execution if any rumours were traced back to Balmacara.

  Brynd and Eir took their seats silently on a wooden podium at one end of the chamber for esteemed guests, although Brynd felt more like a prisoner. On it was carved the emblem of the Jamur Empire: a seven-pointed star.

  A low-level muttering rippled through the Council.

  Eir was dressed soberly in a dark red shawl covering a black gown of mourning. Brynd took the opportunity to rid himself of the scars and dirt and memories of military ambush, and wore a freshly cleaned all-black uniform.

  Though Brynd had earned the Emperor's trust over the years, he was never quite sure how this parliament reacted to his being albino. Brynd had his own suspicions about these councillors because of what had recently happened at Daluk Point. If he scrutinized them carefully, perhaps one of them would betray guilt in his or her eyes.

  Silence fell as Chancellor Urtica stood up.

  Brynd glanced at him with secret disdain. You couldn't really trust a man who, it was rumoured, had spent a year of his youth mixing poisons as an apprentice to a senior torturer for the Inquisition. Urtica was a swarthy handsome man in his forties, his greying black hair cropped close to his ears. The Council uniform of green tunic and grey cloak fitted his slim body well.

  'Jamur Eir. Commander Lathraea, welcome to the Atrium,' he began in his smooth and deep voice. 'As you will understand we've been debating our current predicament, and I'll get straight on to the details of what we've concluded. It may come as no surprise to you that we wish to bring the late Emperor's eldest daughter, Jamur Rika, back to the city. It is, of course, law and tradition that the closest senior relative should inherit the throne, ensuring there is an unbroken chain of command, as decreed by our divine father, Bohr himself. Jamur Rika is to become Empress of Villjamur, being the most appropriate choice, we feel, in these uncertain times.'

  Brynd had anticipated such a move.

  'Commander, we're now charging you to escort Lady Rika back from the Southfjords immediately. It should take you several days, and on your return there shall be a festival combining both mourning and celebration. It is essential that we look upon this as a positive move and not a crisis. As a senior member of this Council, I'll advise the new Empress at every stage. We will be happy to welcome her as the new ruler.'

  I bet you will, Brynd thought. You'll use th
e poor girl's innocence and ignorance to drive through every selfish policy you've ever dreamed of.

  'Commander,' Urtica continued, 'we've set things in motion for your imminent departure, with a longship moored at the port of Gish ready for you to join it. Take as many of the Night Guard as you feel necessary.'

  'Yes, thank you,' Brynd said. 'Talking of the Night Guard, I take it you've heard what happened to us at Daluk Point?'

  'Yes, indeed. One of your men – a certain Captain Apium Hol, I believe – made it his business to inform all of the customers in several bars last night, as well as the entire main dining hall in Balmacara. I was myself told about it by a member of the kitchen staff. A most upsetting way to learn such news, for a man of my-'

  'My point,' Brynd interrupted, 'was to discover how we came to be ambushed. Our mission was supposedly known only to high-level members of this Council.' Brynd was staring directly at Chancellor Urtica. The man shifted slightly, but kept an expression of concern.

  'This is indeed a tragedy, but such things do happen in military operations, commander. If there was a way-'

  'I'm just trying to find out why my men died unnecessarily, chancellor.'

  'We will set up an investigation into this matter for you, but meanwhile your assignment is to escort back Jamur Rika.'

  'What if she doesn't want to return?' Brynd said. 'It's no enigma that she despised the Emperor for his treatment of her late mother.'

  'The Emperor is no longer with us, and it is your job to persuade her. We here need her. Villjamur needs her.'

  Brynd did not quite understand the urgency – it was the Council that dictated Imperial strategy, and Johynn had only really ever been required for his signature. 'I'll leave tomorrow morning then,' he agreed.

  At that point, Councillor Boll interrupted, a slender, short man who would have looked like a child except for his withered skin and grey hair.

  'Commander, there have also been a number of sightings recently,' he began, 'of phenomena we are not entirely certain of. We're getting reports of a series of murders on Tineag'l,' Boll explained. 'And people disappearing in large numbers. Admittedly these are only word of mouth from impressionable locals, and we've yet to hear anything from more reputable sources.'

  'You wish me to investigate? Report back on what I see?' This wasn't exactly the sort of mission Brynd was used to.

  'More or less,' Urtica concurred. 'Nothing to concern yourself with particularly at this moment – at least not until you return. But you can understand our concern that something may be on the loose out there, picking at what's left of our Empire. Killing valuable subordinates.'

  'What's left of them if the ice doesn't get them first,' Brynd said sharply.

  'Indeed,' Urtica said, then turned to Eir. 'Jamur Eir, in this most unfortunate time for you, I ask that in the interim you take stewardship of the city on your sister's behalf.'

  'Of course, Chancellor Urtica,' Eir replied flatly. 'I shall do everything that is necessary.'

  'We will make a public announcement shortly,' Urtica concluded. 'Thank you both for your time.'

  A rather abrupt dismissal, but at least they were out of there. As he followed Eir from the Atrium, Brynd had to stifle a laugh. No sooner had he returned to Villjamur than he had to leave it again.

  *

  Brynd was invited to take dinner with Eir, the temporary Stewardess of Villjamur. He had often eaten with the late Emperor, when their conversation would inevitably turn to his most recent mission, or battle tactic, but he had always felt uncomfortable when she was present, because he felt he should not be talking war at the dining table. Tonight, while she picked at the lobster, she was sitting bolt upright, still wearing that black gown which, in this light, made her pale skin glow as white as his own.

  'How're you feeling?' he asked eventually.

  A distance in her eyes, a disconnection. 'I'm fine,' she snapped. She looked down at her plate again.

  The hides of various animals covered the walls and floors. As a fire spat loudly nearby, the poor lighting made the place look as if there were reanimated carcasses all around him.

  'Are you looking forward to your sister's return?'

  'Yes, very much so.' Eir looked up, her eyes suddenly brighter. 'It's been so long since she… since she left us.'

  'Do you think that she'll ever forgive him?'

  'I hope so. It's possible. She's become a rather different woman since she embraced the Jorsalir Church.'

  Brynd considered the point. 'Perhaps the Empire will benefit from someone with such strong beliefs. Do you forgive him, if you don't mind my asking?'

  'I hated him.' Eir pushed her plate away, slumping back in her chair. 'You don't have to stay here just on my behalf, commander.'

  Brynd replied, 'I know that. But you're better company than most in this damn place.'

  She said, 'I hardly think I'm good company for anyone at the moment.' She was clearly struggling to control her emotions.

  Brynd did nothing to fill the silence.

  Eventually she spoke again. 'Well, now that he's gone… This sounds awful of me to say…'

  'No, go on, say it.'

  'It's like a burden has been lifted from my shoulders.'

  Brynd said, 'Yes, I think I understand. Talk.'

  'I had to keep an eye on him all the time. That means I've not had much of a life here.'

  'Eir, you've had as good a childhood as you could expect in your position. Your mother would be proud if she could see you.'

  She continued, 'But now he's gone, I don't have to do that any more. I don't have to watch out when he starts drinking too much, or apologizing to servants when he soils his bedsheets. I don't have to stand the other side of a locked door when he's ranting because of his paranoia. Yet every time I don't have to do something, these free moments, it reminds me he's dead.'

  'Which means you've got a life of your own back now.'

  'Really?' She smiled bitterly. 'This isn't much of a way to go about things. Because of my blood I get treated a little better than most women in Villjamur, certainly. But there's a list of men waiting to marry me within the year, and I've never even met half of them. Think of how valuable their prize is now. I understand Imperial policies, commander. I understand my life will be little more to this government than supporting income flows.'

  'Sometimes, in this world, we don't have the option to find love,' Brynd muttered, and realized he was addressing both of them. 'Matters of the heart are not always for us to decide. Situations don't always allow it.'

  'Love.' She almost sneered at the word. 'You're a man; you wouldn't understand.'

  Brynd motioned for the servant to take away their plates. As the boy left the room, he continued, 'It's OK to be upset, Eir. It's natural to mourn.'

  'I'm not upset.' Her tone had changed from before, and he could tell she was closing herself up, protecting her mind with walls.

  Conversation had slowed, an awkward silence taking its place. Eir stared at nothing, occasionally closing her eyes completely as if to shut out the world.

  After a moment he stood up.

  'Are you going?' she asked, but she still wasn't looking at him.

  'There's a good chance someone with my personality might make you even more miserable,' he said, and a half-smile seemed to suggest she liked that comment. 'The Dawnir wants to see me. Since I'm off soon, I'd better go and visit him now. Get some sleep if you can.'

  He left her alone in the room with the sound of his boots leaving and the spitting fire.

  *

  Brynd set off along the winding stone passages until he finally reached the Dawnir's chamber, a secluded vault built some way into the cliff face, far away from the rich adornments of Balmacara. This was an ancient remnant of an older structure, the stonework of its walls worn smooth over hundreds of years.

  Brynd banged his fist on the iron door of the Dawnir's vault. It looked rather like the entrance to a gaol.

  Slow footsteps sounded on the
other side. The door opened. A shaft of lantern light fell upon his face. 'Sele of Jamur, it's Commander Brynd of the House of Lathraea.'

  A gruff voice said, 'Please, enter.'

  Immediately behind the door, the Dawnir stood, stooping slightly.

  'Sele of Jamur,' Brynd replied, and shuffled forwards.

  'I am very glad you could come and visit me, Commander Brynd Lathraea,' the Dawnir said. 'The times are interesting.'

  'As always,' Brynd agreed, watching the Dawnir close the door behind him. Standing one armspan taller than Brynd, and covered in a bush of brown hair, his host wore a simple loin cloth.

  He always seemed to be hunching, probably because there was no one else of his height to talk to. His eyes were like large black balls set deep in a narrow, goat-shaped head, while his gums exposed a pair of tusks the length of a forearm.

  'And how are you, Jurro?' Brynd asked. 'I received word you wished to see me.'

  The Dawnir waved an impossibly large hand towards a chair. Three walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling, and more were piled up around the simple wooden furniture. There were beautiful bindings, and some had degraded significantly.

  A sheep carcass was draped upon a table across the room, quietly stinking the place out.

  'Could do with some incense in here,' Brynd muttered.

  After a moment of intense frowning, Jurro spoke. 'Ah, a joke. Very good, Brynd Lathraea, very good. Irony, you call it, yes?'

  Brynd reclined further in the chair, and picked up a book, but found it was in a language he didn't know. The fonts suggested it might be something from Boll or Tineag'l, or some other Empire outpost.

  'That one is a history of dance on Folke,' Jurro explained.

  'Doesn't look like Folken,' Brynd replied.

  'Indeed not, Brynd Lathraea. It was written over a thousand years ago, and language changes.'

  Brynd pursed his lips, placed the book to one side.

  'I was looking at it because of the Snow Ball that the highborn humans and the rumel have organized. I do hope I will be able to attend it.'

  'Don't see why not,' Brynd said. 'You're no prisoner.'

  'Indeed not, but I do feel like one at times. I don't get many true visitors either, just those hoping I can help solve their petty problems. Yet I am not an oracle. I know no magic. And, besides, as if I would know…' the Dawnir trailed off to replace the book on one of the shelves.